


December Prompts 2018

by Dracoduceus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Centaur Hanzo Shimada, Christmas Caroling, Elf on the Shelf, Holiday Music, Knotting, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Noodle Dragons, Old Men In Love, Remote Vibrators, Rimming, Scenting, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Frustration, Tumblr Prompts, Ugly Sweaters, Werewolf Genji Shimada, Werewolf Hanzo Shimada, Werewolf Jesse McCree, a strange amount of marriage proposals, attempted wax play, have I mentioned the holiday horrors?, is this holiday horror?, let mercy say fuck, monsters fucking, not using enough lube, she really wants to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-06 02:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16822996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: It's December and the holiday season is upon us. You know what that means, right?Good, because I don't.---Got a bit of a late start, but here, have a few mostly-unrelated holiday prompts I got from tumblr!Rated preemptively--for the most part, the prompts are rather PG but I did have a few nsfw requests ;)Warnings and prompts will be posted for each chapter as they apply.





	1. Music

**Author's Note:**

> **Requested by:** [Soaponarope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soaponarope/pseuds/Soaponarope)
> 
> **Prompt:** How bout something with caroling or holiday songs? Tbh my most favorite thing about the holiday season is music. 
> 
> **Warning(s):** I make it very clear in this story my stance on Elf on the Shelf. Also, presence of Elf on the Shelf. 
> 
> **Chapter rating:** T (swearing)

Few forgot that Hanzo’s family were  _ yakuza _ . It seemed to be such a defining characteristic of him, the weight of his family’s transgressions pinned to Hanzo and hovering over him like a dark shadow.

These days it was easier to forget. Though he still used his bow he looked more…modern. An undercut, bridge piercing, and clothes from an army surplus store from within the same century tended to do that.

Since he exclusively used his bow, an archaic art form in and of itself, it was easy to forget that despite his upbringing and the ultra-traditional morals that his family had adhered to, he was still deadly with any kind of weapon.

So a part of them was surprised, and a part of them not surprised at all, when Hanzo reached across McCree as they walked into the kitchen, tugged Peacekeeper free, and fired a shot almost before his arm had stopped moving. 

Everyone stared mournfully at the radio as it spat sparks and dark smoke. The Elf on the Shelf seemed to stare with a manic smile, now missing a leg where the bullet had clipped it.

Hanzo spun to look at McCree, his hair greasy and messy the way that all travelers seemed to have after spending the night in an airline terminal. “That can’t be your gun,” he said, wiggling Peacekeeper in his hand. “So you must be happy to see me.”

“Gross,” Hana grumbled, rubbing her ears. “I wish I had tinnitus now.”

Angela, clearly not awake, sipped her coffee from an enormous novelty mug that required both hands to lift.  _ I’ve cut back to ONE CUP of coffee a day! _ was printed in large brown letters on one side. “You don’t want tinnitus.”

“Would Lúcio’s music even help if you can’t hear it?” Hana wondered. She jumped to her feet with the manic energy that spoke to her sleep deprivation, having hosted a charity stream the night before. “I need to test this! Lú!  _ Lú! _ ”

Sipping her drink, Angela hummed. “No, wait, come back,” she said well after Hana had left. “If you give yourself tinnitus I won’t heal you.” She paused again to drink. “Well, I warned her.”

In the distraction, McCree subtly adjusted his jeans and coughed, tugging Hanzo close. He thumbed at the bags beneath Hanzo’s eyes and the faint wrinkles at the corners, visible in his exhaustion. “Always happy to see you, darlin’.” He leaned in to press a kiss to Hanzo’s cheek. “How was your trip?” Hanzo gestured with Peacekeeper to the radio, raising an eyebrow. “I see your point.”

“The snow delayed my flight,” Hanzo said shortly, handing Peacekeeper back to McCree. “I was stuck in the terminal  _ for hours _ while holiday music played on the radio.”

McCree winced. “Did they do that thing where it’s too loud because they expect a lot of people to be there at ass o’clock in the morning?” Hanzo nodded stiffly. “Oh, darlin’. I’m so sorry.”

Hanzo let McCree tug him close, closing his eyes. “I’m just happy to be back,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to McCree’s.

“So I’m guessing that going caroling is out of the question?” McCree teased and laughed when Hanzo scowled at him. “Aw, babe, don’t be like that.”

“I want a divorce,” Hanzo said flatly.

McCree laughed and pressed a kiss to Hanzo’s nose, knowing by now that Hanzo wasn’t  _ really _ mad at him…yet. “We ain’t married.”

Hanzo shoved a half-crushed cardboard jewelry box into McCree’s chest, letting go when McCree lifted a hand to catch it. “Marry me so I can divorce you.”

Thumbing open the jewelry box, McCree swallowed when he found a braided ring on a fine gold chain nestled in the batting. He looked up at Hanzo who had a satisfied smirk curling up the corner of his lips.

He in turn looked surprised when McCree smirked, digging in his pocket for a little velvet box which he placed in Hanzo’s hand. “Not if I divorce you first.”

Anything else he was about to say was interrupted when Hanzo mashed their lips together. “Sorry,” he growled breathlessly. “Stale breath. Travel.”

“Shower?” McCree hissed between rough kisses.

“Shower.”

Angela watched them leave from her lonely post at the head of the table. She drank deeply from her enormous mug again. “They’re going to give me diabetes,” she said to the empty kitchen. “Or an aneurysm. Not sure which it will be, but probably one of those two.”

The broken radio in the corner crackled as if in agreement. Then it warbled as if someone played with the archaic dials and Angela turned to look at it. The Elf on the Shelf still sat on the radio but she could have sworn that its hands had been folded in its lap earlier.

“ _ DoOOoo yOOUUuu SEEeeEEee whAAAaat IiiIIiI SEEeeeE? _ ”

Standing, Angela grabbed the Elf and shoved it into the gaping hole that had been punched in the front panel by Peacekeeper. The wires popped and fizzled and more black smoke rose. She waited until she smelled burning plastic and cotton before unplugging the radio from the wall and removing the battery backups.

“Too early for all of this,” she muttered, shuffling to the stove to turn on the vent hood. “Divorce proposals, creepy elves. I’m done. I’m going the fuck back to sleep.” Scooping up her large mug, she topped it off with the dregs of the coffee pot and walked out.

* * *

A few minutes later, the radio crackled and popped again. It warbled as if someone played with the archaic dials. The music that came out was haunting, played far too slow so that it sounded like a dozen voices groaning the words: “ _ HEEeee SEEes yoOoUUu whEEeen yoooUU’re sSSsleEEEeepIIIiing, hEEeEe knOOooOOows whEEeeEen yoUuUU’re aAAawaAAaake, _ ” it broke off into static, punctuated with high-pitched squeals and warbles as if there was a bad connection. “ _ Oh! You better watch out— _ ”

It cut off abruptly and the radio turned off, going still and silent in the empty kitchen once more. The plug swung lazily over the edge of the counter and the little plastic panel that should have hidden the empty battery sockets balanced at the edge, just a puff of air away from falling to the ground.


	2. Under the Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** [Lyall_Lupa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyall_Lupa/pseuds/Lyall_Lupa)
> 
> **Prompt:** Udon finds themselves under the mistletoe with Orisa
> 
> **Warning(s):** The spirits are very serious. They are not noodles. They are not meant for eating. You must know this. This is very important. They are not for eating. 
> 
> Chapter rating: G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Udon is of course from [Honored Spirits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876894/chapters/29414292). This would take place after [Chapter 16: Horse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876894/chapters/33209508).

They visited Numbani again in the holidays, this time for a visit rather than for work, at the invitation of the Oladele’s. Hanzo and Genji had unfortunately been unable to attend, being called away for a surveillance mission, but Udon had so insisted on going that McCree volunteered to be a temporary host for the spirit.

“Brings back memories,” McCree said, feeling Udon wiggling around on his skin. “Only, Soba wiggled less.”

**I find that hard to believe.**

Angela, Mei, and Hana, sitting across the aisle from him, giggled.

This time when they landed, Angela and Pharah weren’t throwing themselves from the shuttle before they landed to establish aerial superiority. No one was firing on them and none of them were armed more than their own paranoia called for.

The Oladele’s winter estate was closer to the outskirts of town which allowed Tracer to set the  _ Orca _ down where it was out of the way and wouldn’t kick up too much dust or disturb too many people with the screams of its engines. As the dust settled and the doors opened, they found a small plume of dust approaching.

It was Orisa, pulling a hover-sled behind her as she trotted down the path to them. Her usual gold-and-green armor had been replaced in favor of more festive red-and-white in striped patterns like peppermint sticks. The tusks framing her helmet now had little hooks at the ends like candy canes and there was a holly wreath worn around her neck like a gaudy necklace, the thick velvet ribbon bouncing as she trotted along. Reindeer horns, fashioned crudely out of pipe cleaner out of various colors that seemed to imply that the maker had run out of those that were relevant to the holiday, were taped with large strips of masking tape to the sides of her helm. One of them was already listing to the side.

“Greetings!” Orisa called cheerfully as she approached, turning her path into a smooth curve to bring the hover-sleigh up in front of them. She twisted her torso around to offer them a wave. “Would you like a sleigh ride?”

McCree laughed. “Considering it’s a kilometer or so away, I won’t say ‘no’!”

**Be nice, Jesse McCree,** Udon said warningly.

“We would love one, thank you, Orisa,” Angela said graciously. “Let me introduce you to Mei, Dr. Mei-Ling Zhou, Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton, and Jesse McCree.”

Orisa peered at all of them, the panels of her optical sensors spinning. “I recognize Dr. Zhou,” she said at last, turning to Mei. “Efi and I regularly read your published research papers. She will be very pleased to meet you and if you are amenable, she would love to speak to you about Antarctica, specifically living conditions in the research base as she is fascinated in that kind of lifestyle.”

She turned to Lena as Mei pressed her lips shut and sucked in a deep breath. “I have also heard of you, Ms. Oxton. The famous pilot testing the experimental Slipstream jet. Efi will be very excited to speak with you as well as she is currently fascinated with the mechanics of flight. I apologize if she comes off as rude in her excitement to speak with you about planes.”

Lena, who could (and sometimes did) go on for hours about her precious planes, nodded. “I’d love to!”

At last Orisa turned to McCree but he was saved from her scrutiny by the appearance of Udon, who wiggled through his collar into the air between them.

“Hello!” Orisa exclaimed, rocking on her hooves. “Were you the same one I met previously?”

Udon swirled through the air, unusually excited for the spirit who was typically the more serious of Hanzo’s two.  **Yes! It is wonderful to see you again, Protector Orisa.**

“That is Udon,” Angela added.

**I am not a noodle. Please know that I am not a noodle. This is very important: I am not for eating.**

“Udon is not a noodle,” Angela obligingly translated.

Orisa twisted to look at Angela and then held out both arms to Udon who landed there, looping its long body around her cannon. “You are not a noodle,” she agreed, lifting a hand to cautiously scratch behind Udon’s ears and stroke along its mane like it was an enormous cat.

**I am not a noodle.**

Hana took a picture and the click of her phone drew Orisa’s attention, much to Udon’s clear annoyance. “My apologies,” she said. “Shall I take you back to our meeting?”

* * *

“-lacks friction,” Orisa was saying as they entered the main gate to the estate. 

“That does make sense,” Mei said thoughtfully and McCree tuned them out again, looking around the grounds. He really wasn’t very interested in the physics of the hover-sleigh and the alterations that Orisa may or may not have needed to pull it and the team sitting in it.

Udon flew through the air beside them, occasionally swooping through the sleigh or looping around Orisa’s waist. When Orisa didn’t protest (and after receiving permission via Mei, who had been the only one to be able to make the request without laughing), it occasionally settled over her shoulders or her lower back.

The Oladele’s seemed friendly enough though understandably hesitant about the Overwatch agents. The party they threw at Efi’s insistence, held in the yard with the Overwatch team the only attendees, was surprisingly entertaining.

Despite attempts otherwise, the night’s entertainment was Udon attempting to woo Orisa.

_ Bless her poor heart _ , McCree texted Hanzo while Hana giggled beside him.  _ She doesn’t even notice the poor bab. _

Hanzo replied,  _ lol _ .

Mr. Oladele seemed to enjoy McCree’s company and the two of them sat in a corner together, sharing a smoke. In return McCree quietly translated Udon’s side of the attempted wooing while the spirit drifted through the air after Orisa, much to Mr. Oladele’s amusement.

“I have an idea,” Mr. Oladele murmured. He extinguished his fancy cigar and drifted across the yard to his wife who wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of smoke still clinging to him. McCree watched as he leaned close to her ear, murmuring something to her that made her giggle.

It made a little bubble of jealousy well up beneath his ribs. Hanzo would have done the same if he tried something like that. He was more resistant to McCree’s smoking habit and the smell that always seemed to cling to him, but he still did a variation of Mrs. Oladele’s duck of her head, would give a coy little smile.

_ ily _ , he texted Hanzo and received a heart in reply.

He watched Mr. Oladele speak with his wife a few more times. She pressed her hands to her lips as if to hide a smile and nodded. McCree watched her walk off toward the garden while Mr. Oladele returned to their shared corner.

“We’ll see what happens,” he told McCree. “I imagine that you should tell your friends to get their cameras out.” He trimmed another fancy cigar and lit up, offering a wrapped one to McCree. “For later.”

Just by looks alone, the lone cigar cost at least three times more than an entire pack of McCree’s cigarillos; he quietly promised himself and Hanzo that they would share it when they were both back at the Watchpoint.

“Thank y’ kindly,” McCree murmured, tucking it away.

Mr. Oladele chuckled. “Ah, there we are.”

Following his nod, McCree saw that Mrs. Oladele had returned with another man, perhaps a gardener, who held a wrapped paper bundle in one hand and a small drone in the other. Mrs. Oladele bent to speak to her daughter who clapped her hands eagerly and ran to the man, accepting the drone and fiddling with it.

Orisa, distracted by Udon spinning eagerly around her legs like some kind of demented snake-cat, didn’t notice her charge tie a sprig of mistletoe from the bundle in the man’s arms to the drone. She didn’t notice it rising through the air and didn’t seem to hear the surprisingly quiet rotors as it moved across the yard.

Hana noticed and fumbled for her phone, tapping furiously at it and backing up to take a video of of the event.

The drone drifted to hover over Udon and Orisa, the mistletoe swinging wildly beneath it. Udon immediately noticed, its head snapping up to trace the movement of the drone and (to Udon, at least) the dangling toy.

“Oh!” Orisa said with such amusement that Udon stopped its excited charge. She gently caught Udon before it could charge again, loosely gripping it in her hand while supporting its hindquarters with her cannon. “It’s mistletoe!”

**EXPLAIN MISTLETOE.**

McCree snorted, inhaling wrong and bending to cough and catch his breath.

**JESSE MCCREE. EXPLAIN MISTLETOE.**

Everyone that could hear Udon was laughing. “It’s an herb, I think,” Mei said as she composed herself. “Traditionally used to decorate around Christmas.”

**CAN I BITE IT?**

Mr. Oladele leaned over. “What does the spirit ask?”

“Udon’s just trying to understand what’s going on,” McCree said as he continued to cough. He suppressed the coughs when Angela glared pointedly at him from across the yard. “It wants to bite it. Like a cat.”

“I suppose you can,” Mei said hesitantly. “You do not eat so you cannot be poisoned by it, but there are…traditions attached to it.”

That got Udon’s attention and its tail stopped its agitated twitches.  **Tradition?** It sounded almost disappointed.

“Yes!” Orisa said brightly. “In Pre-Christian cultures, mistletoe was a symbol of male fertility. In the Christian era, mistletoe in the Western world became associated with Christmas as a decoration under which lovers are expected to kiss.”

Udon’s ears flipped forward at the word ‘kiss’. It extended its dewlap and bobbed its head at Orisa, pushing its whiskers forward.

Orisa’s optic plates spun as she lifted Udon higher and closer to her faceplate. “Dewlaps are present on many types of animal such as dogs, moose, cattle, lizards, and birds,” she observed. “In lizards, they are primarily used when indicating territorial boundaries and for males to attract females during the mating season. Are you trying to show me the boundaries of your territory, pretty snake-cat? Or mistakenly attempting to woo me?”

“Oh my,” McCree heard Mr. Oladele say with a strangled laugh.

For a long moment Udon said nothing. Efi was laughing so hard that she dropped the controls and the day was saved (to an extent) when the drone dropped from the sky and clattered to the ground. It startled Orisa into jumping and Udon took to the air, darting across the yard straight at McCree who braced for impact.

**SHE HATES ME,** Udon wailed. Its claws pricked at his skin as it wiggled back into place, curling in miserable coils on the skin of his back.

_ I’m sure she doesn’t, _ McCree tried to tell it consolingly.  _ Perhaps she just doesn’t understand. _

But Udon wasn’t in the mood to be consoled.  **I AM NOT A SNAKE-CAT.**

_ No, you are not, _ McCree agreed, pressing his knuckles to his lips to keep from laughing and distressing the spirit further.

His phone buzzed and checked it to find a text from Hanzo:  _ you realize that we will never hear the end of this right? _

McCree swallowed hard, sucking in a breath when Udon continued to spin in distress on his back. _ Yeah, _ he sent back.  _ Pretty much. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I'm still figuring it out as I haven't worked it in....years. 
> 
> ~DC


	3. Hot Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** [Saberink](https://saberink.tumblr.com/)
> 
> **Prompt:** Sipping hot coco in an unexpected place ☕
> 
> **Warning(s):** Ana and Hanzo are assassins. They do assassin-y things. 
> 
> **Chapter rating:** T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not attached to any of my other stories. 
> 
> Ana (Shrike) and Hanzo occasionally work together on jobs and they find rather morbid amusement out of it. Sometimes being on location is difficult but it's nice to have good company and a warm drink while you wait.

******** Ana made a surprised noise when she sipped, only belatedly noticing the sticky sweet aroma lifting out of the thermos in her hand. In her defense it was  _ cold _ , the wind biting as it jealously whipped past them. “Cocoa?”

Beside her, Hanzo made a non-committal sound. “Did you want a tea sachet instead?” he asked dryly. “From a company that has been dead for at least a decade and that has been lying, stale and forgotten, in the back of a cupboard for twice as long?”

“You lost me at sachet,” Ana told him and he snorted.

“Or perhaps you would like me to go to the nearest chain café and get some abhorrent tea that is somehow simultaneously brewed too weak and too strong?” Hanzo made a face that Ana almost couldn’t see.

“Since you’re offering,” Ana teased and out of the corner of her eye she could see the little puff of breath he released when he huffed a laugh, a split second of silver before it was whisked away by the whipping wind.

“I am not.”

Prepared, Ana took a sip and made a pleased noise. It was rich, made with a good amount of cream and spiced with cinnamon. And it was made with good chocolate, too, the kind that Ana knew (as mothers knew) that Hanzo kept for special occasions.

“I find it strange that two snipers are set up in the same place,” she said, taking another sip of the cocoa. Hanzo said nothing. “You don’t need to tell me anything,” she added. “But I’m told that my ears are almost as good as my eye.”

That earned her a puff of laugh and she handed the thermos to Hanzo who took a long sip as if it were liquor. They sat in silence, kept company by the howling wind and the bustle of the city below them.

As she expected, Hanzo didn’t discuss his problems with her. He did indulge her in a game of “I Spy” though, and they had a grand time trading off watching their target to search for something new to stump their opponent.

“I spy an opening,” Ana said and back to business, Hanzo tucked the thermos back into their bag and zipped it. “It’s strange seeing you with a modern weapon.”

Hanzo snorted, tucking his legs and bracing the rifle on his bent knee. “You’re not even looking at me.”

“With children like Fareeha and Jesse, you develop eyes in the back of your head.” A pause. “Wind from left to right. You would probably feel it on your tit.”

“Very funny,” Hanzo told her dryly as he adjusted.

Ana chuckled. “Tell me this, Hanzo.”

“Hm?”

“Why does a grown man still have an Elf on the Shelf?”

“Focus.”

Ana laughed. “Of course I am. Do you see him?”

“The Elf or the target?”

“Both. They’re in the same room. Might as well be the same person.”

Hanzo shifted his scope to look into the penthouse room. The target was fussing with the Christmas tree, walking back and forth between the fireplace and the tree as if looking for the most photogenic angle for a picture.

Then he saw the Elf, sitting innocently on the mantle of the fireplace.

“That is so creepy,” he said flatly as he adjusted for the wind again.

Ana snorted. “It looks like two dots out there.” Hanzo grunted. “Maybe three.”

“Double-shot,” Hanzo said. “Probably safer to go for the trunk. Wind left to right, still?”

“Affirmative.”

Hanzo adjusted. “Witnesses?”

“Still no one,” Ana replied. “No young children, estranged daughter aged 30. Refuses to take calls from him.”

Hanzo paused. “That’s terrible,” he said.

“As if you would take calls from your father if he were still alive.”

“That is…different,” Hanzo told her distractedly. “That is me. It is always nice to have family. You are easier to kill if you are alone, it is not strictly a complaint just…” Hanzo sighed, his breath leaving him in a long silver plume like the smoke of a dragon. There was a muffled  _ pfft _ , the sound quieter than the shriek of the winds they raced by.

Ana clicked her tongue. “Show-off,” she teased. “That was a hit.”

“Does this strike you as odd?” Hanzo wondered, not for the first time. “More cocoa?”

“Please.” Ana took a long sip as Hanzo quickly took apart his rifle just enough for it to fit into the cello case he had hauled up. Though it irked her, Ana hadn’t brought her own so she only had to take down the spotter’s scope and stand and fit that into her violin case. “Don’t tell me this is the weirdest case you’ve taken.”

Hanzo snorted. “I have had weirder. No, it is just…odd.”

“People are like that.” Ana closed the thermos and adjusted her coat and gloves. “People are strange.”

Wordlessly they climbed down the service ladder to the roof and tugged open the access door, ducking into the office building.

“I know what you mean, though,” Ana agreed, looping her arm through one of his. Wordlessly, he reached out and took her violin case from her. “I think the weirdest part about this for me is the Elf.”

Hanzo snorted. “Weird jobs,” he said, shaking his head.

“Weird jobs,” Ana agreed. “Sometimes they’re the most fun.”

“ _ A shot through the shoulder, _ ” Hanzo quoted. “ _ To strike a doll as if it were an accident. Make it looked like a failed assassination attempt with collateral damage in the form of a high-powered round to the Elf on the Shelf. _ ” He snorted. “I had seen his name pop up every once in a while. Perhaps he was so lonely that he craved even the strangest social interaction.” Hanzo made a face. “Or perhaps he just had a weird kind of fetish.”

Ana squeezed his arm as they began climbing down the stairs. “You know,” she said slyly. “You don’t  _ have _ to keep doing this.”

“I have no need of it,” Hanzo agreed and chuckled when she slapped his arm.

“You know what I mean,” she said too-knowingly and Hanzo felt his smile slide off his face. “You  _ can _ have a family again.”

Hanzo didn’t say anything again and Ana didn’t bring up Genji again. She was also kind enough to not bring up the person that had taught Hanzo the quiet joys of hot cocoa and cinnamon, or perhaps with a little pinch of chili.

A security guard approached them, one that hadn’t been on duty when they entered. Hanzo had spent two weeks confirming the rotation of their schedules and was relieved that this one didn’t seem to find them too suspicious aside from two people being somewhere they weren’t supposed to be.

They played their parts well, Ana the soft-spoken grandmother figure that tried to calm her hot-headed music partner. They had been called to play and this was how they were thanked? Sent on a wild goose chase around the building in the dark?

By the time they were done, the security guard was all too happy to usher them out.

“I always feel bad for the people you turn your rich bitch charm on,” Ana murmured in the rush of wind as they pushed open the doors outside. The winds were just as bad as they had been on the roof, somehow, and they bent against the sharp prickles of cold.

Hanzo snorted. “There’s a café nearby,” he said. “Would you like some dinner, grandmother?”

He laughed when Ana tried to pinch him through his coat and settled for slapping him across his chest and stomach. They sat down in the café and ordered scones and tea that just as Hanzo had promised, was somehow both too strong and too weak.

“Too dry,” Ana sniffed. “And somehow too moist?”

“Dense,” Hanzo agreed. “But the sailing theme redeems it for me. I had always wanted to be in a sailor’s café—café, not bar on the wharf—in a land-locked state.”

Ana hummed thoughtfully. “The bathroom signs are idea I’ve never seen before. Sailors. Wenches. I’d give it a 2/10.”

“High praise,” Hanzo snipped. “I would give it a negative number, perhaps a -5/10. I doubt that anything else I order can change my mind. This place seems like the kind of place that uses water and packaged mix to make hot chocolate.” He made a disgusted sound. “They did not even have cinnamon.”

With a knowing smile, Ana sipped her tea. “You know…” Hanzo scowled. “I bet he’d be there.”

“Are you a recruiter?”

Ana smiled. “No,” she told him smugly. “Just a mother.”

“Grandmother,” Hanzo corrected and laughed when she kicked him under the table.

“In-law,” Ana corrected with a smug smile and Hanzo pretended to be angry.

“Since I am being abused, I think that I will go to the counter and order some of that eggnog. It cannot possibly be as bad as that scone.”

It was worse.

* * *

One late spring morning as the sun was chasing away the last bits of morning mist, Hanzo Shimada arrived on the new Overwatch base.

He wasn’t accompanied by his estranged brother Genji, as everyone had expected. Genji had been the one to give notice that Hanzo would arrive, had been the one to offer Hanzo the opportunity.

So they were very surprised that he was accompanied instead by The Shrike, who walked with one of their small hands in the crook of his elbow.

McCree was waiting with three heavy mugs of cocoa and a wide grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I'm still figuring it out as I haven't worked it in....years.
> 
> ~DC


	4. Home for the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let alone at Watchpoint: Grand Mesa, Hanzo ponders the holidays and his relationship with McCree. 
> 
> McCree had left for a very important, very sensitive mission and to say that Hanzo was disappointed was an understatement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Requested by:** anonymous on Tumblr
> 
> **Prompt:** Where McCree manages to make it home just in time for the holidays except it’s a surprise to Hanzo who was ready to stay in his room and not sulk as much as genji had insisted he would be doing soo;;;;;;;; ♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎ ily
> 
> **Warning(s):** Alcohol as a terrible coping mechanism. Idiots in love. Implied sexual content. 
> 
> **Chapter rating:** M? High T / Low M?

Only the fact that the mission was incredibly sensitive stopped Hanzo from calling or texting. Or emailing.

Smoke signals.

Carrier pigeon.

Telegram.

Message drums.

Fuck, he didn’t know. Hanzo swallowed the lump in his throat and threw back another shot in the empty kitchen. Everyone had left the base for the holidays, all of them having significant others or friends or family to spend it with.

But no one asked Hanzo.

(Well, to be fair they  _ had _ , but Hanzo had turned them down. Each and every one, politely declined. He didn’t need their pity.)

A lump rose up beneath his breastbone and he put a hand there. He was cold, somehow, still cold despite the warmth from the fireplace and the heavy serape covering his shoulders. No matter what he might say, McCree had to be magic or perhaps the serapes themselves were magic; a magic that wouldn’t respond to Hanzo’s begging and always ended up in a tangled twist around his neck rather than the artful drape that McCree always managed.

They seemed less warm when not faced with McCree’s wide smile. He had offered to get Hanzo a serape of his own—blue, perhaps, with golden dragons along the edges instead of the geometric lines he had on his own serape. But while the offer was tempting, it wasn’t as satisfying as stealing one of McCree’s and breathing in the stale smoke that still clung to it no matter how many times anyone washed it, no matter how much detergent or fabric softener had been poured into the machine.

Magic.

It had to be magic.

Hanzo sighed and poured another drink. He knew it was bad—that he had it bad—when he drank pilfered alcohol instead of his usual.

He knew it was bad that he was considering breaking into the amaretto for the burn and the sweetness. Dinner had been…had he eaten dinner? Probably—his stomach wasn’t gnawing a hole in itself, the liquor not eating away at everything inside.

Not yet.

Hanzo briefly wondered if it was worth it to steal even a shot of Dr. Ziegler’s chocolate liqueur. As a doctor she probably wouldn’t appreciate that he was drinking alone on a maybe-empty stomach but as a person that had met her own fair share of heartbreak and heartache and stared it down, she wouldn’t begrudge him.

Much.

As long as he didn’t drink it all.

(Again.)

“To be fair,” he said out loud to the empty kitchen, his lips and tongue feeling warm and strangely loose. “I paid her back. Double. Special ordered stuff.  _ Good _ stuff.”

Hanzo fell silent, well aware of how stupid he must look. At least here, holding down the fort in Watchpoint: Grand Mesa, Athena wasn’t present in every corner of the building, watching with judgmental eyes.

Optics?

Cameras?

He didn’t know. Sighing at his own foolishness, he threw back his drink.

It was foolish to have only one person guarding an entire Watchpoint, even one as small as Grand Mesa. Despite the name it wasn’t very grand at all, not anymore. It was small and run-down and sad, echoing with the haunting not-there screams of the past. Something had happened—looters, bombing, who knew—but most of the base had been destroyed and only a small portion of it remained.

They had set up emergency systems and Athena was able to monitor things that way, but the server room and security had been among the rooms destroyed. She couldn’t tap into the security feed to see how pathetic Hanzo was, sitting alone in the kitchen and drinking.

Hanzo sighed and threw back his drink, immediately pouring another. By now he was numb to the burn of the alcohol.

He  _ wasn’t _ used to the ache in his chest, though. Not chest pain, he mentally told Dr. Ziegler and laughed drunkenly to himself, remembering a similar discussion he had with her just over a year ago.  _ Just…it aches. Like it’s empty. _

_ You idiot _ , she had told him.  _ Does it feel better when you are near someone? _

Hanzo had snorted.  _ Is that symptomatic of something? _ He had asked dryly.  _ That it might feel better if I’m near someone? _

She had, of course, whacked him upside the head. Somehow memories like that, when it was her that did it, never hurt. How many times had the elders smacked him like that as a child? His father? His mother? Only his mother would hit with her closed fan and the sting of the wood wouldn’t fade for hours.

But Dr. Ziegler had only ever smacked with her hand and even then it wasn’t anything  _ too _ hard. He knew because he’d seen her  _ really _ hit someone and had been amazed that someone so small could hide so much strength.

So Dr. Ziegler had smacked him in the back of the head that day in Medical and said,  _ that’s love, you idiot. You’re in love. _

That night McCree kissed him for the first time and the pain came back. It felt like his organs moved, like those first few moments of freefall before the body gets used to it. As if everything was rearranging inside to make room for another person.

Now that ache was back but it wasn’t the good kind of hurt. It wasn’t like diving into the waters at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, swooping beneath the waves in the pocket where the currents weren’t pulling (yet), it wasn’t the kind of breathless like zooming down the empty desert roads without a helmet on the back of a stolen hover cycle.

No, this was the kind of ache that was like a chunk of him was missing and Hanzo laughed to himself at how much that sounded like some airport romance novel.

His own laughter, with a slight hysteric edge, echoed in the empty kitchen. He poured himself another drink and tapped at his phone.

It was too quiet here, and the howling wind outside was beginning to harmonize with the screams inside his own head. He found a playlist and turned it on, hoping that the false cheer of holiday songs would make him feel better.

(It wouldn’t. Christmas was  _ McCree’s _ holiday and Hanzo had never felt so sad to not celebrate it. They had only been dating for one fucking year and already it’d wormed itself deep inside him. He felt the holiday’s ache as much as he felt the ache for McCree at his side. What was wrong with him?)

A slow song came on, the singer long dead and their voice haunting. “ _ Please have snow and mistletoe _ -”

Yes, this was fitting enough. There was snow enough here. 

Hanzo laughed to himself and poured another drink. “ _ Christmas Eve will find me, where the loveliest gleams- _ ” the video skipped and looking down, Hanzo saw a spinning cursor. The internet was probably on the fritz again. Poor wiring, and all that. There was no point in resetting the router fifty times—he’d just wait it out.

He was used to silence.

Standing, Hanzo wobbled for a bit while his equilibrium (what was left of it) reestablished itself. Perhaps he’ll have a shot (or four) of amaretto, then go back to the room that he was supposed to be sharing with McCree and…fuck, he didn’t know, jerk off or something.

Was that pathetic?

Yeah, that was pretty pathetic.

Hanzo shook his head and wobbled drunkenly to the counter. The whiskey sloshed as he set the bottle down and he reached for the amaretto.

Something fell out of the cabinets and though he yelped in surprise (a sound he would blame on the alcohol and the isolation of the Grand Mesa base) instinct allowed him to catch it. The red legs protruding from the bottom of his fist made him sigh. A doll.

It was just a stupid doll.

He pinched its arms between two fingers and raised a brow. It was one of those silly Elf on the Shelf things that McCree hated so much. Perhaps someone had hidden it in the liquor cabinet to guilt Hanzo into not drinking so much. His money was on Dr. Ziegler considering that a little sliver of metal, shaped vaguely like a knife, was clutched in one of the plastic hands.

But that didn’t quite sound like Dr. Ziegler, mostly because the “knife” actually appeared sharp. Perhaps someone else; perhaps someone from when the base was active had a terrible sense of humor.

Still, these Elf things were horrific and in a fit of drunken petulance, he shoved the Elf into the freezer and shut the door.

The song resumed behind Hanzo: “ _ I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams. _ ”

Sighing, Hanzo shut the phone off, grabbed the whiskey again, and shuffled off to the room he was supposed to share with McCree.

“Darlin’,” a voice said behind him and he jumped, nearly dropping the whiskey. “If I’d’a been an assassin, you’d be dead meat.”

Almost before he had realized who the voice belonged to, Hanzo had thrown himself at McCree, hissing when he felt the chill and unmelted snow still clinging to the gunslinger’s clothes.

“Hey,” McCree murmured, tugging Hanzo close. He tipped Hanzo’s face back and Hanzo went willingly, closing his eyes and making a soft sound at the kiss. “Baby, did you think I was about to miss Christmas with you?”

Hanzo swallowed hard, his eyes filling with tears that wouldn’t be there if he wasn’t so drunk.

McCree didn’t say anything about it, peppering kisses all over Hanzo’s flushed face. “Looks like you got a head-start on me,” McCree said, nodding at the whiskey. “How ‘bout you let me catch up?”

Laughing, Hanzo pulled McCree into their room.

* * *

Showered and changed and much more inebriated, Hanzo and McCree wandered back into the kitchen to make snacks to sate their drunken hunger (and to replenish what energy had been lost doing other activities). They found the freezer door cracked, cold air misting and swirling in the warmer kitchen air.

They opened the freezer and found it empty save for a few half-full ice cube trays, a frozen pizza, and a bag of frozen pierogies. “Potato and onion are good,” Hanzo argued when McCree looked incredulously at Hanzo.

McCree shook his head with a smile, bending to kiss the corner of Hanzo’s mouth. “I didn’t say a word,” he said with a laugh. “How ‘bout we make all of this and have a feast? Now that you’re not alone for Christmas, we need a proper meal.”

Laughing, Hanzo helped McCree pull out the foodstuffs and began warming up the oven. McCree reached into the liquor cabinet and pulled out whiskey and spiced rum and some of the amaretto that Hanzo had been eyeing earlier.

Something made Hanzo pause—the strange kind of sense that he was forgetting something.

But that thought was chased from his mind when McCree wrapped his hands around Hanzo’s waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It didn’t matter, he supposed. McCree was home for Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I'm still figuring it out as I haven't worked it in....years.
> 
> ~DC


	5. Tree Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by** : [Faiahae](http://faiahae.tumblr.com/)
> 
> **Prompt:** CHRISTMAS TREE SHOPPING
> 
> **Warning(s):** Weirdly enough, another marriage proposal. Background Reaper/76.
> 
> **Chapter rating:** T (swearing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not related to the previous chapter.

“It’s a great holiday tradition!” McCree protested, his breath puffing in the air.

The bundle of clothes that was one Hanzo Shimada, resembling a sparrow that was more fluff than feather, swiveled his head to look at McCree. “Is it?” he asked waspishly, his voice muffled by the scarf covering his nose and mouth. “Is it really, McCree?”

McCree put a mittened hand to his mouth to hide his laugh. “It’s a fun one,” he tried.

The thin gap between Hanzo’s scarf and knitted cap that revealed his eyes nearly disappeared as he scowled. “You call this _fun?_ _Being lost on a Christmas tree farm?_ ”

This time McCree hid his laugh with a cough; it came out as a strangled squeak. “No, the fun is in losing Reyes and 76 as well and having to call it in.”

“We lost _everyone_.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“We are in the middle of a blizzard,” Hanzo hissed.

McCree chuckled, tugging Hanzo closer. “Ain’t much of that,” he said, nudging his own covered face into Hanzo’s in an attempt at a kiss. “Just a bit of a squall. Nothing major.”

As if to discount his words, another gust of wind nearly knocked them both over, the thick flurries of snow flying sideways. They appeared as bright white streaks in the light of their flashlights and they huddled together for a brief moment until the gust died down.

Hanzo huffed again, his breath leaving his mouth like smoke from a mythical dragon. “This is misery.”

“I suppose that since you’ve already broken your legs…” Hanzo swiveled his head toward McCree. “What? _Misery_? By Stephen King?”

Hanzo’s head swiveled away and McCree shook his head but didn’t say anything. “How far away are we from the tracker?”

Grumbling under his breath, McCree patted his pockets down, tugging out their GPS. The cold leached at the battery so he turned it on just long enough to squint at the screen. “Sixty meters,” he said and consulted the little spinning dial of the compass on the unit. He pointed just to the left of the path they had been walking. “That way.”

With another grumble, Hanzo began slogging off in that direction and McCree followed in his wake, letting him break the trail. The snow wasn’t unbearably deep just yet, but nonetheless there was no sense in wasting energy out here.

“And now?” Hanzo asked and McCree obligingly tugged the unit out.

The chiming of the low battery signal was eaten by the howling wind but Hanzo still seemed to hear it, scowling down at the device in McCree’s mittened hands. “Almost there,” McCree assured him, tucking the device away beneath his many layers in halfhearted hope that his body heat would preserve the battery just a little longer.

Hanzo was looking around at the large trees around them. It was obvious that they had reached the very edge of the Christmas tree farm, or had perhaps left it entirely: the trees here were eclectic mixes of firs and pine grown obscenely large and in strange shapes. Their long, sweeping branches blocked some of the snow at least but they also fenced in the lights of their flashlights.

They did nothing about the biting wind that wound its way around the trees, though.

A flash of red caught his attention and McCree swung his flashlight over. But it was just a little doll peeking out at them from the boughs--something that a visitor must have left behind.

“I feel like we are in a horror movie,” Hanzo grumbled and McCree’s laugh echoed eerily back at them from the trees.

He nudged Hanzo’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

They trudged further into the snow, hunched against the icy wind. Soon the enormous trees gave way to smaller ones, these neatly trimmed into the traditional Christmas tree shape and more reasonably sized. Hanzo stopped abruptly at the glow ahead of them and McCree nearly ran into him.

“We are back on the farm,” Hanzo observed.

McCree looked around and nodded, tugging his hat more securely over his ears. All he got was snow in places he didn’t want and he bit back a yelp. “Let’s keep going,” he said. “Lights mean warmth.”

“Unless it is a fire,” Hanzo muttered just loud enough to be heard.

McCree laughed. “Yeah,” he said, nudging Hanzo’s arm with his elbow as he moved so that they walked abreast between the neat rows of trees. “That’s warm, ain’t it?”

Hanzo laughed breathlessly and they walked toward the light, switching their lights off when it was bright enough for them to easily see where they were going. Their path was lit by hanging strings of hardlight lanterns and they pressed on.

The light died down as if they had stepped behind something that wasn’t there and when they looked in that direction, they found a pile of snow, flat on one side. As if the snow-laden wind had run into a wall.

A few meters more and the air _burned_ , pleasantly warm but almost painful after they had gotten used to the painful sensation of the blizzard around them. As they hurriedly blinked the snow and cold out of their eyes, they realized that they had walked into a large hardlight clearing.

It was toasty enough that all of the snow had melted, revealing the waterlogged grass. A good-sized fire crackled in the middle, surrounded by large tree stumps for seats. There were tables of food in large aluminum trays kept warm by steno lights; perhaps a bit ridiculously there were drinks as well, kept cool by large coolers of ice.

“What is this?” Hanzo asked, tugging his scarf down. Sweat was already beading on his face.

McCree laughed and began shucking his layers as quickly as possible, hanging them on an empty coat rack nearby. Hats, mittens, scarves, coats, multiple sweatshirts and thermals were shucked quickly until he stood in a sweat-soaked tee. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“It does,” Hanzo argued, still fumbling with his many layers.

Laughing again, McCree stepped close and helped him, tugging off all of his layers until Hanzo stood in a long-sleeved tee and a pair of fleece sweatpants. “Nah, it’s fine,” he said, tugging Hanzo close. His nose was still flushed pink and McCree pressed a kiss to it. “It’s for us.”

“What?”

Hanzo didn’t fuss too much as McCree tugged him further into the space, spinning him around to the beat of music that wasn’t there.

“We walked through a blizzard for this?” Hanzo asked, sounding more amused than annoyed. “You used Christmas tree shopping as an excuse for…what, exactly?”

Laughing, McCree spun Hanzo again, tugging him close and then lifting him into the air. Hanzo’s thighs closed around his hips instinctively, the archer frowning down at him from his new vantage point.

“Not an excuse,” McCree said, wobbling a little as he adjusted his grip. “It was a real idea.”

Hanzo scowled but let McCree kiss his frown off his face. “Oh really?” he asked.

“Now darlin’,” McCree pretended to whine. “You can’t blame the blizzard on me.”

His lover looked smug. “So you admit that it was a blizzard.”

McCree stuck his tongue out at Hanzo who grinned. “Alright,” he said. “You got me.” He spun Hanzo around and gently kneeled by the fire, setting him down on one of the logs. “But...maybe I’ll get you back.”

“I cannot see how you can possibly get me back,” Hanzo said, clearly pleased with himself. “Perhaps you can warm me up by the fire?”

Unable to help his smirk, McCree dug in his pocket and fished out the small velvet box. As he had expected, that shut Hanzo up very quickly. “I think you know...what this is, huh?” Hanzo nodded mutely. “It was supposed to be different. The blizzard was a surprise but everything had been put in place and I didn’t want to waste everyone’s efforts...honestly, I didn’t think it would be quite as bad.”

He swallowed, suddenly self-conscious when Hanzo didn’t say anything, his eyes glued to the little black box dwarfed in McCree’s hand. “I...if it wasn’t for the blizzard, it would have been a bit different. More romantic, you know? We would’a found a nice big tree and I would’a gotten down on one knee. This wasn’t supposed to be ours, but we just kinda crashed it but I think it’s only--”

“This isn’t ours?” Hanzo interrupted with an inscrutable look on his face.

McCree swallowed. “76’s actually. And Reyes’. The team had to go and bail them out or they’d be here to meet us too. Reyes was planning something nice, same as me, but...well, guess none of us are very good at walking through a blizzard.” He swallowed again, his throat and mouth dry. “Darlin’?”

Hanzo held out a hand. “Put the ring on me,” he said, just as bossy as McCree loved. “And then we will eat and drink as much as we can handle before everyone returns.” He cupped McCree’s face in both palms. “And when we are drunk and full we will do something stupid--very stupid--and get yelled at by our team.”

“Because that’s what we do?” McCree asked, very aware of the stupid, lovesick grin on his face. “A bunch of stupid things and ride off into the sunset to live happily ever after?”

The Hanzo from years ago, when he was one raw wound after another, would have scoffed; he would have said that there was no happily ever after for a man like him. But this Hanzo laughed and leaned down for a warm kiss and said, “Yee-haw.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to stop by my tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/%22) to see what shenanigans I'm getting myself up to!
> 
> ~DC


	6. Candlelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Requested by:** [Frankenmouse](http://frankenmouse.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> **Prompt:** Candlelight, preferably McHanzo, but let the muse take you!
> 
> **Warning(s):** this is turning into a holiday horror piece XD . Implications of PTSD in Hana though nothing explicit. 
> 
> **Chapter rating:** T (swearing)

Outside, the storm howled.

Hana swallowed hard at the sharp  _ crack! _ of breaking branches and ducked against Hanzo’s arm. She looked embarrassed and wiggled away, stopping when Hanzo lifted an arm and tugged her closer. “Aww, mama bird,” she teased and no one mentioned the slight waver in her voice.

On his other side, also tucked under his arm, McCree grinned. “Big pimpin’ now.”

“Gross!” Hana exclaimed while at the same time, Hanzo made a vague noise of disgust. “You guys are like old enough to be my  _ grandparents! _ ”

“Hardly so old,” Hanzo said while McCree sputtered.

Down the hall they could hear the sounds of Lúcio’s skates. Soon his light brightened the doorway and he skated in. “You will kill yourself that way,” Ana scolded from her darkened corner.

“Sorry Grandma,” Lúcio called, sliding to a stop. Ana made a rude gesture at him which he didn’t see as he turned, pirouetting to offer the burdens in his hands with a dramatic flourish. “I present—more candles!”

Hana wiggled free of Hanzo’s arm and made grabby hands at Lúcio, who handed over one of the candles.

“This reminds me of a time I was trapped in a cave,” Hanzo said thoughtfully. “It was about as cold.”

“Even with me to warm ya?” McCree teased. He shivered, making an exaggerated noise as his teeth clattered. “Brr, it’s cold!”

Hana giggled back into place and Hanzo lifted an arm to pull her closer. “One time I got caught outside of my MEKA,” she admitted. In the light of the dozen flickering candles on the table in front of them, it almost felt like a dream.

Nightmares were dreams, too.

In the dim lighting it was easy to deny that she buried her face into Hanzo’s chest—not that anyone would mock her for this.

“I got knocked out of the sky one winter. Our suits aren’t really meant for comfort or survival. It’s just something no one thought too much about because if something damaged us enough to have us eject…” she let the implication fill the darkness of the room. “It was so cold and I was so scared. I thought that…well, I thought a lot of things. All I could hear was the sound of everything breaking—I couldn’t tell if it was an animal or…”

Hanzo tugged her closer. “It was so cold,” she whispered, clutching the unlit candle to her chest. She shivered reflexively even though she wasn’t particularly cold.

“Aw, shoot,” McCree said. “I’m gonna go ahead and be selfish now.” He straightened with a groan. “C’mere, Cottontail. I ain’t gettin’ any warmer.”

Hanzo stood and nudged her closer to McCree who tugged her against his side. Then Hanzo sat on her other side, looping his arm around Hana’s shoulders. Now she was surrounded by warmth and McCree patted her head with a content sigh. “Much better.”

It occurred to her that McCree wasn’t as cold (or as warm) as he claimed, but that he had given up his spot so that he could keep her warm as well.

“This is nothing,” Ana said from her corner. “Have you ever been to Alaska? Half of the year the sun doesn’t set and the other half, it doesn’t rise.”

Lúcio made a face. “That’s an exaggeration!”

“Alaska?” they all turned and found Mei standing in the doorway, a small flashlight in her hands. She wore her fuzzy yeti slippers and warm pajamas. Snowball darted and zipped around her, the little lights on their panels casting a small bubble of blue light. “Not quite as bad but bad enough.”

“I bet you saw a lot of blizzards,” Ana murmured.

Snowball beeped and their face switched to a picture of a snowflake. “Snowball,  _ no! _ ”

Startled, Snowball chirped and spun, a few drops of slush and snow dripping from its ventral fan. Hana squeaked when some of it hit her and laughed. “Snowball!”

Deeper in the base, the generators rumbled and the lights flickered before dying again. “Can we take down that Elf?” McCree complained. “It looks like something out of a horror movie.”

They all turned to look where he was pointing. An Elf on the Shelf that had a jagged cut in its little cap and was missing a sleeve so that its bare arm was visible stood on the bookcase, seeming to peer out at them from behind a cluster of books. In the flickering light it did indeed look like something out of a horror movie, or perhaps something out of a castaway movie.

“Yeah, that’s…something, alright,” Lúcio agreed.

Rolling her eye, Ana got to her feet. “I’ll get it.” She eased the Elf out from between the books and walked briskly to the window. They all yelped when she whisked it open, letting in a few angry flurries of snow, and flung it out into the night. “Done,” she said as she shoved the window shut again. Looking at the candles she selected one of the lit ones and held it up so that it cast eerie shadows over her face. “Now, who wants to tell scary stories?”

* * *

They stayed up late into the night, through a few other attempts by the generator to turn on again, and told scary stories by rounds. By the end of the story it was too outlandish to be scary and they all slowly drifted off to sleep in a large pile in the community room to the flickering of the candles and the ghastly shadows they cast on the walls.

In the morning they found that the storm had blown over and the world was covered in a thick blanket of shimmering snow. They all dressed in their winter clothes and tumbled outside to make snowmen and snow angels but it ended in an enormous snowball fight that really wasn’t fair with two snipers and a gunslinger.

Once they were thoroughly soaked in snow and slush they wandered back inside. The generator was still down and McCree went with Hanzo to check on it while Ana and Lúcio dug out cans of soup from the cupboards and warmed them over the gas stove.

“What the…”

They turned when they heard Lúcio begin swearing in Portuguese. He was staring at the sliding glass door and pointing at the lower corner with a shaking hand.

A doll dressed in red and white, an Elf on the Shelf that had a jagged tear in its cap and was missing part of its sleeve, was pressed against the glass and posed as if it had been trying to get inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I'm still figuring it out as I haven't worked it in....years.
> 
> ~DC


	7. Ugly Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** [Kinkwatchafterdark](https://kinkwatchafterdark.tumblr.com/) on tumblr (aka the cutest person ever)
> 
> **Prompt:** Ugly Christmas sweater McHanzo. The ugliest, lovecraftian horror sweater you can think of, please.
> 
> **Warning(s):** Werewolf McCree, Centaur Hanzo, terrible holiday sweaters, knotting, rimming, unsafe sex 
> 
> **Chapter rating:** E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a lot of ways, I only have myself to blame. I honestly am not _too_ sure where this came from, but part of it was a rather nsfw [discussion about monsterfucking on twitter](https://twitter.com/ichigowhiskey/status/1069983679118684160) and then a _lovely_ picture of [Centaur Hanzo in lingerie](https://kinkwatchafterdark.tumblr.com/post/178869411985/centaur-hanzo-in-lingerie-or-alternatively) and discussions of [Sagittarius](https://twitter.com/ichigowhiskey/status/1070887673852760065), a comic she is working on as well, apparently XD 
> 
> Either way...hope you enjoy

McCree sneezed. 

And then sneezed again. 

And sneezed a third time. His ears swiveled back as he whined at Hanzo. “Ba-AACHOO!” 

He sniffed and whined when Hanzo flicked him with his tail. “That’s what you get for trying to snoop,” Hanzo said, sounding far too pleased with himself. 

McCree sneezed again and whined. “Babe,” he complained. 

Hanzo snorted, twisting in front of the mirror and craning his head over his shoulder to look at himself. “I think I’ll have the red blanket, please.” 

Sniffing, McCree obligingly went to the closet where Hanzo kept his blankets and found the one he wanted. “A hint? Please?” He whined as he settled it over Hanzo’s back. “Just a little one?” 

He let Hanzo reel him in, tipped his head up to accept Hanzo’s soft kiss. “You can wait,” Hanzo informed him and soothed the sting of his words with another kiss. “Will you braid my tail?” 

“‘Course,” McCree murmured, digging around for the comb and setting up behind Hanzo. Perhaps he should have braided it  _ before _ the blanket, but he supposed that historically he had trouble keeping his hands off of Hanzo. At least this way it was harder to fool around with the blanket in place. 

And Hanzo liked the red one, decorated in golden designs like McCree’s serape and yellow-gold thread in puffy quilting patterns. He wouldn’t let McCree ruin it. 

(Not  _ too _ much, at least.)

“Did you need to wrap it like that, though?” McCree whined, his fingers picking along Hanzo’s tail to make the braid patterns that his boyfriend preferred. 

“Did you need to go sniffing after it?” Hanzo asked as he brushed his hair. Muttering to himself, McCree continued to braid. He threaded little beads and bells into the braid so that when Hanzo swished his tail, it would be to the sound of a festive jingle. 

The first time he tried it, McCree stayed out of the way, ready for the surprised hop that Hanzo gave. Instincts were a bitch to counter, and McCree made sure that he was nearby to run a hand soothingly over Hanzo’s shoulder and over the boundary between soft human skin and smooth horse hide. 

He tried not to get distracted by it, too. McCree loved the smooth transition, loved doting on it with a soft-bristled brush and listening to Hanzo’s soft noises. He loved when he could convince Hanzo to lie on his back, rubbing his cock and the beginnings of his knot over that transition, feeling horsehair and human skin playing on his cock. 

Hanzo’s ears were turned back, listening to the gentle ringing and chimes of the bells as he gently swung his tail from side to side, getting used to the new weight and the accompanying sounds. He tossed his head, shifted his hooves a bit, and settled again, giving McCree a somewhat embarrassed look. 

“Aw, it’s okay, sweet,” McCree murmured, tipping his head back for a kiss which Hanzo obligingly bent to give. “You almost ready?” 

“I am,” Hanzo agreed, bending his forelegs to pick up the package that had sent McCree into sneezing fits. It had been washed with strong-smelling detergent and fabric softener, specifically for the purpose of preventing McCree from sniffing out what was in it. “I’m going over to Ana’s first. Meet you there?” 

McCree’s ears swung back and he whined. “Okay,” he said dejectedly. Hanzo leaned down and pressed a kiss to McCree’s cheek. “See you there?” 

With a low chuckle that sent heat pooling low in McCree’s gut, Hanzo pressed a kiss to his cheek and snuffled along his ear and hair. “I’ll see you there.” He walked out, flicking his tail teasingly at McCree before the door opened. McCree whined. 

* * *

McCree’s tail wagged excitedly. He liked the disgusted looks he was getting because it meant that he had done it right in wearing this particular monstrosity to the ugly sweater party. There was a particular kind of silliness that he liked in wearing a “Dad bod” sweater while halfway into his wolf form. 

His thick fur poked out from the collar and cuffs and his tongue lolled happily out of his mouth as he stood in a corner with a cup of mulled wine and watched the proceedings. Across the room he could still see the baleful glare of the Elf on the Shelf and tried to ignore its crossed arms. 

The party was in full swing when he heard it and he couldn’t help the excited prick of his ears and the way that his head snapped toward the door. His tail wagged excitedly, thumping against Hana who grinned next to him. 

Soon, everyone could hear the clop of Hanzo’s hooves and the gentle jingle of bells--Ana must have helped him to add more to his cannons and he felt a little spike of jealousy. Now that he was used to it, he loved working with Hanzo’s tiny horse legs, running his hands over them and feeling the bone and muscle. 

(To be fair though, he loved touching Hanzo’s body in general.) 

The party stopped to stare at Hanzo and McCree’s jaw dropped, his tail beginning to wag harder. Most embarrassingly, he could feel his erection begin to peek out of his sheath, hidden beneath the kilt he had wisely chosen to wear. 

Hanzo looked lovely as always in his red coat, and the bells on red ribbons were a lovely touch against his dark legs. The bells in his tail were still there, unsurprising because Hanzo loved it when McCree braided his tail. 

No, what had caught his attention was Hanzo’s sweater. His left pec was exposed by a large hole that had been created in the chest. His skin was decorated by a pair of eyes drawn in marker and a small pom pom of a red nose over his nipple. 

What made it worse in some ways, was that it was a hand-knit sweater, colored in rich shades of brown that had a slight reddish sheen. A hand-knit sweater that smelled like him. 

Spotting him, Hanzo stepped toward him, deliberately lifting each leg high in a beautiful parade walk that would put any show horse to shame, his head arched playfully. His ears were pricked forward eagerly and he grinned widely as he made his way across the party to McCree. 

Up close the smell was stronger and McCree nearly dropped his drink as he took three enormous steps toward Hanzo. He could feel himself doing more than peek out of his sheath and his mouth was dry as he approached. 

Hanzo spun, just out of his reach, showing off the shimmering gold in his blanket, the bells and ribbons in his tail, the immaculate wraps on his cannons, and his sweater. 

_ His sweater _ . 

“Of course your tit is out,” Genji muttered. 

“Don’t be jealous,” Hanzo shot back without turning away from McCree. To McCree, he said, “You were shedding so much because you insist that you do not need more grooming. How could I  _ not _ literally make you a sweater out of your own fur?” 

McCree licked his snout and whined, hoping that his erection wasn’t tenting his kilt. 

“Well,  _ I _ didn’t quite make it. Ana helped. A lot,” Hanzo amended. “And everyone helped me to collect your fur.”

“Yes,” Genji snipped. “But I didn’t know that you’d show up  _ with your tit out _ .”

Hanzo flicked his tail, making the bells there ring. He ignored his brother. “Do you like it?” he asked McCree, sounding terribly self-conscious. 

McCree swallowed. He took two more steps, stretching himself up as tall as he could go which in this larger form brought his snout up closer to Hanzo’s jaw. Whining, his tail wagging, he nuzzled his snout along Hanzo’s cheek. “Baby,” he said in a cracked whisper. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” 

Turning his head, Hanzo pressed a kiss along the side of McCree’s nose, smiling at the tickle of his whiskers. “I think I do,” he whispered back. “Why do you think I asked for the long blanket?” 

McCree whined, his ears swinging back as he realized just how well he had been played. But he really couldn’t complain. “You smell like me,” he said in a rough voice. He whined. “Hanzo, baby, you don’t know what you’re  _ doing _ to me.” 

Laughing, Hanzo pressed another kiss to his whiskers. “I just got here,” he murmured. “And I’d love to greet my friends and show them my sweater. I’d love to try some of that food and is that mulled wine? You will oblige me, yes?” 

Licking his snout, McCree nudged closer and pressed a cold nose to Hanzo’s throat, inhaling deeply. His boyfriend smelled like carrots and other greenery and a bit of spiced hummus, most likely from his visit to Ana; most of all he smelled like McCree. 

McCree whined. “Of course,” he said huskily. 

* * *

It was the most delightful kind of torture but eventually McCree managed to coax Hanzo back to their shared room. 

As soon as the door was closed, McCree ripped off his clothes and knelt behind Hanzo, his clawed hands digging into the edges of the blanket. He whined as he tugged Hanzo’s long tail aside, the bells jingling mockingly. His hands, clumsy in his arousal and in his half-transformed state, tugged roughly at the catches holding the blanket closed over his hindquarters. 

“Don’t rip it,” Hanzo complained, helpfully lifting his tail up and spreading his legs, the bells on his legs jingling. 

McCree snarled. “It’s tempting. Fuck, darlin’, don’t you know what you’ve been doing to me?” 

“I think I know,” Hanzo said breathlessly and let out a loud noise when McCree pressed his cold nose to the skin beside his tail as he fumbled with the clasps. 

Snarling, McCree  _ tugged _ and was nearly too far gone to feel guilty over breaking Hanzo’s favorite blanket. But he was also at his wit’s end, having been close to popping his knot all night. “Bed,” he snarled. “Get on the bed.” 

Hanzo huffed but obeyed, climbing on their enormous bed and arranging himself. He flicked his tail teasingly, making the bells there jingle. 

Growling, McCree approached. “I’m not sure that I’ll be able to prep you,” McCree growled. “But fuck, do I want to fuck you so badly.” 

Without letting Hanzo answer, McCree licked at Hanzo, his tongue catching on the edge of his hole and nudged against his balls. Hanzo squealed, tossing his head and jumping, his hooves digging into their sheets. 

McCree worked at his hole, wiggling his tongue along the rim and pulling away to nuzzle at Hanzo’s dark balls. He growled all the while, unable to help himself and Hanzo seemed to like it or was perhaps just as excited as McCree was. 

“Fuck, babe,” McCree growled, his words coming out strangely around his elongated muzzle. “You don’t know what you’ve done. You don’t know how crazy you’ve been making me all night long. Smelling me on you. Fuck, you about made me pop my knot.” 

Hanzo’s hooves dug into the sheets, twisting to look over his shoulder at McCree with a pleading look. He shifted his tail, further revealing the pucker of his ass that McCree had been so eagerly nosing. 

“Yeah,” McCree said huskily, shuffling over to nuzzle at Hanzo’s shoulder, breathing in the overwhelming scent of himself in the knitted sweater he wore. He fumbled for the lube in their drawers, his claws scrambling at the wood and handles in his eagerness. 

He bit the bottle open, literally, and spilling half of it on the sheets, managed to get enough on his dick and on Hanzo’s blanket. It earned him a baleful stare and pinned ears, but Hanzo was still too keyed up to be  _ too _ angry. 

“Sorry,” McCree mumbled. “Sorry, sorry. Just...just let me…” he fumbled with the lube, smoothing it over himself before easing some of it over Hanzo’s ass, being extra careful with his claws. 

He nudged his tapered cock along Hanzo’s ass and groaned as his fur, sticky with lube, caught on his cock. Hanzo snorted and tossed his head, crystal clear in his need despite being so keyed up to be non-verbal, and McCree groaned as the tip of his cock caught on his hole. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna knot,” McCree hissed as he hunched his hips forward, desperate to see his cock disappear as much as he was to fuck desperately into Hanzo, to bully his knot into his ass and fill him up. 

Hanzo shifted and McCree groaned as he felt the movement of his muscles around his cock. He was already so tight from improper prep and never before had McCree been so grateful that his cock in this form was tapered. 

But he didn’t want to think of it, his eyes sliding shut in quiet bliss as he nudged himself, hips hunching and jerking, deeper. His nose nudged against Hanzo’s shoulder again and he breathed his own scent in, making him groan. 

“Fuck,” he growled, unable to help the way his hips bucked. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good-- _ smell _ so good.” 

Hanzo grunted, his muscles clenching. McCree clawed at his back, struggling to find purchase on the blanket, leverage to buck his hips deeper and force his knot in. “Jess,” Hanzo managed to gasp. “Jess, please, Jess…” 

Growling, McCree dug the front of his teeth into Hanzo’s sweater and jerked his hips forward, forcing the swell of his knot into Hanzo’s ass, past the  _ tight _ clench of his hole. Hanzo squealed, legs and tail jerking and making such a clatter of bells that if anyone was walking past their door, there would be no question what they were doing. 

McCree ducked his head, teeth still buried in the sweater, and fucked roughly into Hanzo, his eyes squeezed shut. He was so close, his knot forcing its way into Hanzo. “Fuck,” he snarled, not even sure that he was coherent, if Hanzo was capable of processing language anymore. “Fuck, baby, close.” He grunted as he felt the familiar dip in his belly, the rising heat as his knot began to inflate. 

Beneath him he felt Hanzo buck, his body moving and twisting as if hurt and he forced his eyes open in time to see Hanzo throw his head back and groan, was able to watch him duck his head and grip at the bed with hands and hooves as they curled toward his belly, and come. 

“Fuck baby,” McCree snarled, dizzy with the feeling of Hanzo’s muscles clenching down on him, with the teasing that he had endured the entire night leading up to this. Of smelling himself on Hanzo, of feeling that sense of  _ owning _ ....perhaps it wasn’t so much  _ A Thing _ with Hanzo, but for McCree it had been everything. 

Even more so now, Hanzo had smelled like home. 

“Fuck,” he snarled again. “Fuck, baby you like that? You like my knot fucking you open?” 

Hanzo gave a weak moan, his tail flipping as he trembled. Soon he would be oversensitive, or perhaps he was keyed up enough that McCree could make him come again. 

But no, McCree knew that he couldn’t--he was too worked up himself and he shoved forward a few more times, feeling his knot catching on Hanzo’s ass. He held still, feeling it swell just that last bit and groaning when they locked, drooling shamelessly into Hanzo’s sweater.

“You’re so needy,” Hanzo gasped and McCree jumped, both of them groaning when the motion tugged on McCree’s knot. “Or perhaps too narcissistic.” 

McCree growled, working his jaw loose of the sweater. “Can’t let a guy enjoy the afterglow, huh? Just gotta needle at him.” 

“Given how fast you knotted me, perhaps it was warranted,” Hanzo murmured, looking at McCree over his shoulder. 

“Didn’t see you complaining.” McCree grunted as he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. Lying down over Hanzo’s hindquarters would mean that he arched his back uncomfortably or let his knot pop out. But being hunched over as he had been wasn’t the most comfortable, and though Hanzo wouldn’t say it McCree knew that it was sometimes uncomfortable for McCree to rest all of his weight on his sides as McCree currently was. 

Hanzo chuckled. He shifted, stretching out his back legs and twisting his body so that he lay on his side. McCree whined as it tugged on the knot, as the movement made muscles clench and slide against his sensitive cock. “I’m not,” Hanzo agreed.

Grumbling, McCree shuffled and Hanzo groaned, his eyes sliding shut. “Sorry,” he said. “Gotta say, I’m not looking forward to changing the sheets.” 

“Hush,” Hanzo murmured. “I'm not done with you yet.” He paused. “Besides, we haven’t ruined this sweater yet, and I have more layers of sheets under these--and a set of plastic ones to catch the spills.”

McCree’s ears flipped forward. “Honey,” he murmured with a dry, wheezing laugh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, McCree is wearing [this monster](https://www.belovedshirts.com/products/sexy-christmas-sweatshirt) and Hanzo is wearing some form of [this](https://www.huffpost.com/entry/the-ugly-christmas-sweater-for-breastfeeding-moms_n_566af44ae4b009377b24b0f8), except he and Ana spun and knitted it themselves out of McCree's shed fur. Because big boof McCree sheds. 
> 
> So. 
> 
> Much.
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	8. Werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** [Ohayokuroneko](https://ohayokuroneko.tumblr.com/) / [Lyall_Lupa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyall_Lupa/pseuds/Lyall_Lupa)
> 
> **Prompt:** Shimada brothers unexpectedly boof-out on Christmas Day
> 
> **Warning(s):** Excited puppies, The Can, The Elf Returns with a Vengeance 
> 
> **Chapter rating:** G

Hanzo was dignified.

He behaved properly.

His lycanthropy was not something he  _ suffered _ from, nor did his team suffer to have a lycanthrope. Hanzo had long since learned how to live with his… _ condition _ and only in certain circumstances did he transform.

He of course transformed during the moon cycle, shifting over the course of a week or two from man to wolf and back. There were also the times that he was compromised in some way: injured or hungry or scared enough to transform. More than once they had found him like that, hobbling along on all fours to the payload with his bow clasped in his jaws.

Other times he transformed when he was overwhelmed by anxiety or depression (or one memorable time, withdrawal symptoms). It began as an itch beneath his skin, the sound of his surroundings heightening and only serving to make the problem worse.

The team learned to look for those moments and usually kept something on hand to help Hanzo around it; if it couldn’t be stopped, they escorted him somewhere safe that he could transform for a moment and collect himself.

(It meant that a lot of his team saw him naked.)

It was rare, though, that he transformed so quickly that fur and thread literally went flying. Or perhaps not so rare as it typically occurred when Genji, in his wolf form, full-body tackled him.

McCree yelped and jumped out of the way as the two enormous wolves wrestled, tails and big paws flying. He slid carefully past them into the common room and sighed. There were shiny decorations everywhere, an enormous tree decorated with more shiny baubles (made of very thick plastic this year, after the  _ last time _ ), and a truly obscenely tall pile of gifts. Some of them already had tooth marks and there were confetti-like strips of wrapping paper and ribbon all over the floor.

Zenyatta waved, one hand holding on an enormous blanket. “He didn’t want his panic jacket?” McCree asked dryly.

“He didn’t want his panic jacket,” Zenyatta agreed.

McCree leaped out of the way again when both wolves leaped back into the room, Hanzo chasing Genji. “Someone get the can!” The wolves snapped and bit and growled playfully at each other, rolling around like a pair of brawlers. 

“I got it!” Hana cried and jumped out, a metal coffee can full of coins in her hands. She shook it wildly and both werewolves yowled, scrambling over each other to get away. 

They knocked into the table, dislodging the Elf on the Shelf that had been sitting there. Seeing it, they got over their fear and grabbed it in their jaws, Hanzo grabbing it by the head and Genji by the feet. 

Growling, they yanked it between them, their heads swaying back and forth as the growled playfully and wrestled with the toy between them. As the toy began to break, Hanzo yipped and jumped back as if burned, running to hide behind McCree, a hilarious image given he was as tall at the shoulder as McCree’s waist. Genji flew backwards, the doll still clutched in his jaws by the legs. He shook his head like a terrier, the toy a red blur.

“What’s wrong, babe?” McCree asked and peering down, saw that Hanzo stood with his mouth open, his head held strangely. “What’s wrong?” he asked, more worried.

“Ugh, it’s that stupid doll again!” Hana growled. She chased Genji with the can, rattling the coins until he howled in terror, dropped the doll, and leaped, in standard Shimada fashion, out the window. 

Zenyatta sighed. “I will get him,” he said tiredly, extending his legs and standing, walking in long-legged strides out the sliding door into the snow. 

McCree knelt beside Hanzo, holding open his mouth and peering inside. “What’s wrong, baby?” To his surprise, Hanzo whined, his ears pressed flat as if afraid. Peering into Hanzo’s mouth, McCree found a little piece of metal sticking out of his gums and gently tugged it out. 

Immediately Hanzo closed his mouth, licking his lips. “I swear,” Hana was muttering, picking up the doll. “I keep throwing this thing out and it keeps coming back!” 

Hanzo looked at McCree as Hana stomped out, not bothering to put her coat on, and flung the doll over the sea wall. As one they looked down at the piece of metal clutched between two of McCree’s fingers. 

It was a small thing shaped like a crude kind of knife. 

They looked at each other with wide eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	9. Gingerbread House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** anonymous on tumblr
> 
> **Prompt:** Building a ginger bread house??? Like ik that would be kinda hard to write but i know i get frustrated when the icing doesn’t act like it’s supposed to and figured it could be relatable for some cute fluff
> 
> **Warning(s):** poor attempts at making gingerbread houses. Symmetra of course shows everybody up.
> 
> **Chapter rating:** G

“You are doing it wrong,” Satya observed.

Junkrat snorted, sending puffs of sugar skittering along the table. Instead of soot and smoke he was covered in flour and confectioners sugar, his face smeared with a rainbow of icing colors and cookie crumbs. “Ain’t no way to do it wrong,” he shot back. “Just different.”

“No,” Fareeha said, earning an approving look from Satya. “I think you really are doing it wrong.”

Like some kind of mad scientist, Junkrat peered up from where he was carefully setting the cookie wall in place. “Just different,” he repeated stubbornly.

“Frosting does not have the binding power that icing does,” Satya informed him flatly. “The panel in your hands will never dry as there is not enough sugar to offset the fat.” She gestured with one hand to the piping bag of icing held in her other. “Properly mixed royal icing, however, has the ability to set enough to create a cementing substance that allows—”

Junkrat rolled his eyes, pulling his hands back. The walls he tried to glue together held for a few seconds before falling. One of them cracked. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Ha!” Fareeha said as she fiddled with her own cracked pieces. They were lumpy and misshapen and a little burned around the edges. With a sharp knife she was carefully paring them into more even shapes and it was only the presence of the knife in her hand that kept the hamster—genetically modified and frightfully intelligent but still a fucking hamster—from diving into the scraps.

Junkrat stuck his tongue out at her and she lifted a finger from her knife to flip him off. “Oi!” he exclaimed when he saw Satya’s neat constructions. “That ain’t fair!”

“Everything has a place,” Satya said wisely. A small, smug smile tugged up a corner of her blue-painted lips. The lipstick and sealer had been a gift from a “secret Santa” and while she didn’t appreciate the unplanned secrecy, she appreciated the sentiment. “If you do everything in its right order with the right materials, then perhaps you would achieve similar success.”

“Perhaps,” Roadhog grunted.

Laughing, Fareeha looked up and whistled at Satya’s creation. “Don’t tell me it spins too.” She whistled again when Satya made a motion with her prosthetic arm and the gingerbread carousel slowly began spinning.

Further down the table, Hana slapped at her pockets with icing-covered hands. “Wait, wait, wait!” she cried. “I need to take a video!”

“Why?” Satya asked, honestly curious. She stopped the carousel, devoid of any decoration save the white gashes of the royal icing that held it together. Was one of the panels crooked? “It is just a cookie—meant to be eaten.”

Hana snorted. “Well yes,” she said, wiping her sticky fingers on her shirt before fiddling with her phone. There was still icing and sugar sprinkles under her nails and around her cuticles but she didn’t seem too bothered by it. “But it’s so pretty. It’s short-lived so we have to document it so that when our memories fail, we’ll have something to remind us!”

For a long moment, Satya didn’t say anything, watching Hana take pictures and then ask her to turn the structure again so she could take a video. She stepped aside, looking at the strange little doll that listed to the side on the shelf as if trying to peer past her. Shaking her head, Satya righted it, folded its hands neatly in its lap, and turned away.

“Would you like a picture with it?” Hana asked, turning to smile at Satya.

Satya considered that. “Maybe later,” she decided and Hana nodded, tucking her phone away.

She spun the confection again, contemplating Hana’s words.

* * *

The next morning, Satya was annoyed to find that someone had hid some kind of small doll on her carousel. She knew that it had to be some kind of trick of her mind, but she thought that the doll turned its head to glare at her as she walked by. 

When she turned to look again, the doll was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	10. Candles Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** [hhgggx](http://hhgggx.tumblr.com/) / [Interrobang]()
> 
> **Prompt:** henlo this is Bang my submission for holiday prompts is candles gone horribly wrong, spicy or not
> 
> **Warning(s):** attempted wax play, [let Mercy say fuck](https://letmercysayfuckzine.tumblr.com/post/179881500994/welcome), alcohol to cope
> 
> **Chapter rating:** T (implied attempted sexy times, noting explicitly mentioned...except the attempted wax play

Angela pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s...let’s hear this again.” She opened her drawers and dug around for a bit. “Go on,” she continued. “You woke me up at the ass crack of dawn the morning after the Christmas party for a reason. I’m waiting.” With a pleased sound, she pulled out a small glass bottle and used it to top off her coffee. 

“Well,” McCree began and then stopped. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, making a face as his jostling made the ice pack in his lap shift, made the damp cloth drag painfully against his tender skin. 

He looked at Genji who was looking anywhere but at McCree or Angela. No help from him, then. 

McCree cleared his throat. “Can I get some of that?” he asked weakly.

“No.” Angela made it worse by pinning him with a withering glare. 

Coughing awkwardly into his palm, McCree adjusted the ice pack on his crotch. “Right. Um...so we were trying to make it romantic, you know?” 

Angela narrowed her eyes at him and he swallowed nervously. “And?”

“And…” McCree coughed, shifted. “Um...well, candles.” 

“Are against regulation to be present in the dorms.” 

McCree cleared his throat. “Yes, but….I wanted it to be special, yannow?” 

He watched Angela drink deeply from her coffee. The mug was half-empty when she put it down and she filled it up again with the amber contents of the glass bottle. She drank again. “And?” 

“Well…” McCree cleared his throat. 

“We tried wax play,” Genji grumbled, speaking for the first time. “The wax was too hot.”

Angela hummed. She took another deep drink. “I see. The wax was too hot.” 

They fell into silence for a while. Angela sipped her spiked coffee and when it was done drank directly from the bottle. McCree made a wounded sound and she glared him into silence when he would have begged her for some, just a little to take away the burn of the wax. 

“I didn’t test the wax before we used it,” Genji blurted. “It wasn’t the right wax and I just assumed that all the ones I’d used before...I just assumed it was all the same.” Angela’s lips twisted. “I’d done wax play before but that was...before. And I just thought…” Genji trailed off, his head lowering guiltily. 

Angela tipped her head, throwing back the rest of her drink. She sighed. “Let’s take a look at that burn.” 

* * *

Later that night when Genji snuck into McCree’s bunk, he was unusually quiet. It wasn’t as if there was anyone there to hear them, one of the reasons they had decided to have a little fun, but Genji was strangely..subdued. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Genji tucked his faceplate against McCree’s chest and he sucked in a breath at the sensation. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

Sighing, McCree wrapped his arms around Genji and tugged him closer, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his helmet. “I know, babe,” he murmured. “It was an accident.” 

“Let’s not try that again,” Genji murmured, not looking at McCree. “Please?” 

“Because I got hurt?” 

Genji shook his head, the points of his helm digging into McCree’s face. “Because that...whole thing reminded me of someone that I don’t want to be anymore,” he said softly. “The meaningless sex, the...I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want to be that person that wouldn’t care if their partner enjoyed themselves or not. I don’t want to be the selfish one.” 

Smiling, McCree pressed tender kisses to Genji’s helm, tugging up a hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Well,” he said slowly. “We have a lot we can improve on. We can work through it together.” He rolled, tugging Genji so that he straddled McCree’s waist, away from the skin of his hips that was still tender. “Sound good?” 

Leaning down, Genji nuzzled his mask against McCree’s nose. “What have I done to deserve you?” 

McCree pressed a kiss to Genji’s faceplate. “Say,” he said, running his hands up and down Genji’s thighs. “Why don’t we set the mood, hm? Maybe light a few candles?” At Genji’s incredulous look, he waggled his eyebrows and laughed when Genji grabbed a pillow and tried to smother him with it.

* * *

Angela sighed and debated not answering her comm when it rang, indicating that she had an urgent request in the dorms. 

McCree's dorms. 

The only person left there, since the rest of his team had gone away on a mission over the holidays. 

Well, the only person left there and his boyfriend that had no doubt snuck in (again). 

She sighed when the comm rang again and got to her feet, getting the burn cream and the rest of her emergency bag. The door opened to her medical code and she frowned as she took stock of the situation. 

A candle, lit and on its side, dripped hot wax on the nearby table. There was an open box of matches and beside them, an arm tossed carelessly over the unlit end of the candle, was a small doll in red and white with a little festive hat on its head. There was another pinned to the wall by one of Genji's throwing stars by the door and a candle, the wick still smoking and wax dripping, rolling on the ground next to the wall. 

"What happened?" she demanded and McCree's head poked up from where he and Genji had evidently been hiding. 

His hair was singed and drops of wax clung from his bangs. He looked terrified and honestly, that terrified her. 

She turned to the candle to blow it out before it could reach the doll and found it gone. The candle rolled slowly over the table and she caught it. A soft puff of breath and the flame was gone, a little curl of smoke rising into the air like its ghost. 

Looking around, she found that there was no sign of either doll. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _would have_ made this a chapter without The Curse, but it seemed that y'all liked it....
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	11. Christmas Goat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** [PersonalSpin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonalSpin/pseuds/PersonalSpin/works)
> 
> **Prompt:** are u still taking holiday prompts? because i really want to see mchanzo burning down the [swedish christmas goat](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/post/181014532588/thefingerfuckingfemalefury-naniyou)
> 
> **Warning(s):** dolls being creepy again
> 
> **Chapter rating:** T (implied attempted sexy times, noting explicitly mentioned)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing about Danish/Swedish/Norwegian and krona/kroner is a joke at my own expense because my dumb ass kept forgetting what belonged where. "Krona", from what I am led to believe, is singular; "Kroner" is plural.

Winston frowned at them, unsure that the gravity of the situation got through. Did they not understand? No, they were both very intelligent and had the _capability_ to understand what trouble they had landed themselves in. But did they?

He sighed. Humans.

But he was nothing if not persistent and he took a deep breath, making sure to enunciate each word. “One. _Million_. Kroner.” He adjusted his glasses. “Each.”

“Krona,” Hanzo said, frustratingly unrepentant. “The Swedes use Krona—the Danes have Kroner. No, it’s the Norse…Norwegians.” He looked at McCree. “Right?”

McCree scratched at his singed beard. “They ain’t all euros?” They both stared at him incredulously. McCree shrugged. “’Sides, I thought we were in Norway.”

For the first time Winston truly understood the phrase “Lord grant me patience for if You grant me strength, I will kill someone.” He took a deep breath and made a mental note to visit Agent Zenyatta to discuss meditation and deep breathing exercises. His peanut butter intake was increasing, too—what had started out as a “moderate” addiction as a result of his gene therapy was quickly turning into an addition not unlike those seen in humans with alcohol or nicotine.

His fingers itched for the jar and he promised himself that he could indulge… _later_. First, he had to focus on this.

Winston took another deep breath for good measure. “Focus,” he nearly begged and cleared his throat. More authoritative. “Focus. Now: tell me exactly what happened.”

“Well,” McCree began and Winston could already feel the peanut butter cravings coming back. “Y’ see, there was this goat…and we were feelin’ awful lonely-ow!”

Hanzo scowled at McCree, his arm raised to punch to punch him again. “I _told_ you that we are _not_ making a bestiality joke.”

“What?” McCree whined. “There _was_ this goat like some big-ass Trojan horse and we _were_ feeling awful lonely.”

“ _You_ were feeling _frisky_ and _I_ was more concerned with the people that were following us!” Winston cleared his throat but both agents ignored him.

McCree snorted. “ _I_ was thinking that the damn goat would be a great hiding place.”

Winston cleared his throat again and this time both agents turned to look at him. “I would like a full report from the both of you—right now. We will then decide on what information to submit to the Swedish government regarding this issue.” He steepled his hands in front of him, hoping that it didn’t make him look too ridiculous.

Both operatives looked at him, an expression he wasn’t familiar with on their faces. Neither men were one to hesitate and it concerned Winston.

“Look,” McCree said quietly. “We…we know what we saw. But Win…believe me when I say, y’ain’t gonna believe it.”

Winston adjusted his glasses. “You are speaking to a genetically-altered gorilla from the moon,” he pointed out. “That is speaking to you under his own power.” The faces they made were almost identical. “Try me.”

Both of them looked at each other, a silent conversation that Winston wasn’t privy to seeming to pass in the air between them. Evidently it was Hanzo that was elected to speak first.

* * *

They walked hand-in-hand, pressed together to stay warm. Every few block they’d stop in a little alleyway and acquaint themselves with each other’s tonsils.

* * *

Winston snorted, lifting a big hand to his mouth to muffle further laughter. He coughed. “My apologies. Please continue.”

* * *

The two of them became “acquainted” often to throw off their pursuers.

They were looking for two bounty hunters, two wanted men. They were _not_ looking for two lovers that acted like they were horny teenagers, pawing at each other’s layers and swaying as if drunk.

But their pursuers were determined and followed along, not particularly well, as they walked along the streets of Gävle. Hanzo guessed that they were inept, or perhaps too cocky, maybe buying too much into the idea that their quarry were far drunker than they actually were.

* * *

Athena helpfully pulled up a three-dimensional map of Gävle and thanking her, Hanzo zoomed in on a particular portion, using his finger to trace along their route. As his finger passed along the hologram, a red line appeared.

As they approached the city center, an image of the Gävlebocken appeared.

So did the veritable army of witnesses in the form of guards, tourists, and taxis, highlighted in white. The security cameras were highlighted in yellow.

“I will never understand how you managed to sneak past all of that,” Winston said tiredly.

McCree jerked a thumb at Hanzo. “Literal. Ninja.”

Making a face, Winston nodded. “Continue, please.”

“The ‘how’ does not matter,” Hanzo pointed out. “The ‘what’ does.”

Winston sighed and debated with himself if this was a battle worth fighting. In the end he decided that it really wasn’t so he gestured for Hanzo to continue.

* * *

The Gävlebocken had an internal cavity, evidently not quite complete just yet as this was easily accessible. It was surprisingly cozy for what it was and was insulated against (most) of the cold save for the little hatch through which they had wiggled in.

It was small enough that they were pressed close against each other, two narrow for men of their size and too short for either of them to sit up without hurting their backs.

* * *

Winston had seen the size of the cavity from the pictures of the damage done—most of the wood for the structure had somehow survived though the straw covering had not.

He did not believe this for a second.

* * *

There was a rustling sound like something moving and they sprung apart, drawing their weapons. In the glow of light coming from the little hatch, they saw nothing—unsurprising as it was still very dark in the cavity. Trading glances, Hanzo manually activated one of his sonic arrows and they both held their breath.

McCree swung Peacekeeper when Hanzo jumped and snapped his head to one of the corners of the cavity. “It’s…it’s nothing,” Hanzo said, sounding far too shaky for McCree to believe him. “It’s just…a toy.”

“You sure?”

Hanzo moved across the cavity into the corner. He returned, pausing beside the hatch so that the light could shine on the doll in his hands.

“Well,” McCree said. “That’s an Elf on the Shelf.”

Hanzo turned the doll over in his hands. It was made of cloth with a plastic face and plastic hands, dressed in red felt clothes and a red felt cap, and had a creepy smile that seemed even more horrific in the dim light. “It’s creepy,” he said flatly.

“Yeah,” McCree agreed, putting Peacekeeper down. “C’mon back, darlin’.”

* * *

“It was easier to hide together,” Hanzo explained and Winston nodded.

He wanted his peanut butter.

“The cavity was too small,” McCree added. “Had to be close.”

Winston sighed. “Continue.”

* * *

They returned to “huddling for warmth” and “staying close in the small space” after Hanzo tossed the doll out of the little hatch. That is, until they heard a rustling noise again and Hanzo made a sound that he didn’t want to admit to.

* * *

“It was a squeak,” McCree said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “It was adorable.”

Hanzo punched him in the shoulder.

* * *

“It’s another doll.”

“Maybe whoever made this shoved a bunch in,” McCree suggested.

Hanzo shook his head. “No, it...that corner was empty.” McCree could see him squint into the dark corner. “What is it holding?”

There was a click, like metal-on-metal, and the little cavity was filled with soft golden light. McCree turned and found, true to Hanzo’s word, another Elf on the Shelf.

In its hands was a lit lighter.

* * *

Winston sighed. “So you’re telling me…” he took a deep breath. “That a doll--a holiday doll--set the Gävlebocken on fire.”

Both operatives looked at each other. “Told you,” McCree said. He turned to Hanzo. “I _told_ him he wouldn’t believe us.”

Winston sighed. “I’ve heard enough,” he decided. “I’ll figure out something to send to the Swedish government and find a way to pay your fines.”

“Already done.”

He sighed. “For now, I’m putting you both on probation. You will be confined to the base. No missions.”

Really, he needed to think up better punishments. This was too much like a vacation for them but this was still voluntary service and there was only so much he could do. Winston sighed.

Both operatives left and he took his glasses off, rubbing his face tiredly. “Athena, bring up the security feed.”

_“I found something interesting,_ ” Athena said, speaking for the first time. A blue square appeared on the table in front of him and as he looked down at it, images began to appear.

He saw the Gävlebocken, lit brightly by a series of floodlights around it. It was a shame that it burned down--it was quite beautiful. There was a slit along its belly, just as Hanzo had claimed and as he watched, a small red object fell out. Most likely the doll.

Winston sighed. That much was true at least. Then he paused. “Athena, rewind and enhance.”

_“So you saw it, too?”_

Athena obeyed. The grainy image grew and played again.

There was the doll dropping. A few seconds later, he saw the doll again.

_It was climbing back up_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	12. Christmas Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** [PersonalSpin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonalSpin/pseuds/PersonalSpin/works)
> 
> **Prompt:** Christmas cakes!! One for later, one for a snack
> 
> **Warning(s):** they're really, _really_ bad at flirting. Bakery / tattoo shop AU
> 
> **Chapter rating:** T

Hanzo pointed to the cakes in the display. “Two of those, please.”

The man behind the counter looked surprised. “No one’s wanted that,” he said, pleased. “I was beginning to worry that we’d have to toss them.”

“How old are they?” Hanzo asked, concerned.

“Oh no,” the man assured him. “I made it this morning.” He checked his watch. “At…ah, I’d say I finished it around 8—two hours or so after I came in.”

Hanzo checked his watch. “That’s early.” It was only a few hours old, then.

“Not so much,” the man said. “It was a late day for me; I had Liv opening the shop today.” He ducked down to open the back door of the display cooler and pull the cake out. “Two slices?”

For a moment Hanzo contemplated lying, but this—everything about this—was an indulgence he was allowing for himself for the holidays. He cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “I meant two. Two  _ cakes _ .”

The man stared at him for a long moment. “Two?” he asked. “I’m…I’m sorry but I only have this one. Call it an indulgence. I was bored this morning and I thought I’d just make something pretty.”

“Oh.” Hanzo felt even worse when he saw how the man was tensing up, clearly expecting Hanzo to react poorly to this. “That’s okay, then. Can I get the whole cake, there?”

The man smiled brightly. “Sure thing!”

Hanzo licked his lips, following the man as he walked to the packing table, trying to work himself up to the  _ other _ reason he was there. The holidays were a time for indulgence for him and this would be the ultimate indulgence.

“Two cakes, huh?” the man asked as he folded a cardboard box around the cake. “Maybe I can interest you in something else?”

“It’s tradition,” Hanzo explained, jumping on the opening. “My family and I used to get Christmas cake each year. Last year—”

The man spun and snapped his fingers. “Yes! I remember you.”

Surprised, Hanzo blinked and deviated from his carefully planned script, blurting, “You do?”

“Yes!” the man continued. He had a blinding smile and now Hanzo knew why deer froze in headlights. “You ordered something custom last year. A chocolate and strawberry sponge cake with whipped cream icing; custom icing in blue and green saying ‘merry fucking Christmas’.”

Hanzo was embarrassed. “I suppose I can never come back again.” It was a shame.

They had amazing scones.

Behind the counter, the man laughed, putting both hands on his apron-covered belly. He smeared whipped cream frosting over chocolate and flour stains. “I hope not,” he told Hanzo. “That is my favorite story! I was…hoping I’d see you again this year.”

The admission seemed to shock the man as well and they stared at each other over the counter. Hanzo cleared his throat. “Well…I come here often. I work just across the street.”

“Oh, do you?” the man asked just a little too quickly, a little too knowingly, and Hanzo cocked his head to the side.

Hanzo smiled and watched a blush rise on the man’s cheeks. “Yes,” he said, voice dropping low. “At the tattoo shop. I do piercings too. All kinds.”

The man swallowed. “Do you?” he asked in a strangled squeak. He cleared his throat. “Ah…mm…you don’t look the type.”

“I have more piercings than you’d think,” Hanzo said and tried to channel the  _ looks _ that he’d seen Amelie give her husband. One of the  _ why don’t you come and find out _ looks but when he’d tried the look in the mirror he’d only looked constipated.

He hoped he didn’t look constipated now.

Perhaps that wasn’t very good though. Half the time Amelie looked like she wanted to murder her husband.

He hoped he didn’t look like he wanted to murder the man behind the counter.

The man cleared his throat and Hanzo worried that he had read him wrong. Was he…heaven forbid was he straight? Or just uncomfortable? Hanzo could work with uncomfortable, but he couldn’t fix straight.

“Do you?” the man asked and busied himself covering the cake. He slid the box into a bag and put a little bow on top. He cleared his throat. “Um…perhaps I’ll have to come by sometime. Been thinking about getting some ink.”

Hanzo smiled. “You’re not a virgin?” he teased and then realized how that must sound.

The man laughed. “Got a few things I need to cover up,” he said. “Bad choices in my youth, you know? Some I did myself. Lord knows how I never got sick from any of it. Maybe I’ll have to come over. Check out your portfolio.”

At this point Hanzo couldn’t tell if the man was flirting with him or talking business. Still, it was a pleasant conversation so he dug out his business card and offered it to the man. He forgot about the additional note on the back until the man lifted it into the air to get a better look.

Hanzo wished for the ground to swallow him up. He was just about to ask for the card back, to swap it out with a blank one when the baker began turning it over. “Hanzo Shimada, huh? Oh?”

_ Call me ;) 856-458-2256 _

They stood in awkward silence as the man’s eyes lingered on the note on the back. How could he have forgotten that during the last Ladies + Hanzo Night, they had all put flirty notes on the back of their business cards and scattered them all over their bags and pockets?

He promised himself to never drink alcohol ever again.

Except after this night when he drank to forget how he made a complete and utter fool of himself in front of the cute baker.

Hanzo cleared his throat. “Um…how about that cake? How much?”

The man looked down at the box. “Oh. Um…let me just…ring you up.” He tucked the card into the keyboard of the computer and Hanzo despaired that he couldn’t switch it out without being obvious. The man cleared his throat while Hanzo fiddled with the pin pad. “So…Christmas cake, huh?”

“Yes,” Hanzo told the little screen in front of him while he signed. “I don’t celebrate with anyone since I moved away from my family. This year my brother is away for the holidays and it’s just me. So I thought that I would…indulge myself and buy myself a cake. This looked perfect.”

“Why two?”

Hanzo looked up in surprise and remembered that he had originally asked for two of that particular style. He laughed, suddenly even more embarrassed. “I told myself last year that I would get two cakes this year:  one to take home...and one for a snack. ” He ducked his head. “But perhaps that is a bit much. I suppose that I will just have to have some restraint.”

He probably wouldn’t.

Just drink and eat his cake in the loneliness of his apartment and cry to himself about how he ruined his chances with the cute baker.

Amelie would find it hilarious.

The man cleared his throat and Hanzo looked up as he removed his card. “Well,” the man said a little shyly. “Perhaps I can convince you…to try something else?” he cleared his throat again. “Perhaps I can convince you over dinner sometime? Maybe tonight if you’re free? I close at six.” 

Hanzo stared blankly at the man. “I don’t even know your name,” he blurted. 

He regretted it when the man’s face fell. Hanzo grasped at straws.  _ Useless! _

“My name is Hanzo,” he said, holding out a hand. “And yours?” 

The cute baker stared at his hand for a long moment, then at Hanzo. He grinned and took it. “Name’s Jesse. Jesse McCree.” 

“I would  _ love _ to go out to dinner with you,” Hanzo told him with more feeling than he had originally intended. 

The cute baker--Jesse McCree, he knew his name now--winked. “A cake to take home and one as a snack. I’ll be whichever one you like.” 

Hanzo grinned. It was a terrible pick-up line but everything about this so far was terrible. “We’ll see where the night takes us,” he purred, leaning across the counter toward Jesse. “Ideally, I’d like you to be both.” 

Laughing, Jesse let his fingers linger over Hanzo’s as he handed over the bag with the cake. “I’d like that too, sweet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone that's been leaving comments and kudos. I love traumatizing you with the Elf and hearing your reactions to everything. 
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	13. Apple Picking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** anonymous on tumblr
> 
> **Prompt:** Apple picking in the chilly fall weather as a cute little date
> 
> **Warning(s):** I wrote this when I was hungry and contemplating the benefits of aggressively committing to a theme. I like to cook, okay? 
> 
> **Chapter rating:** T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually happened because I started writing this early in December and thought that I should look up if the local farms near me still had apple picking and found that all of them had closed in early November. Oops.

They were brought up short by the big sign over the ticket booth window: CLOSED FOR THE SEASON.

As one they all turned to McCree who shrugged. “What?” he complained. “I  _ told _ you that I hadn’t looked it up.”

“I would imagine that all farm stands and orchards are closed by now,” Hanzo observed.

Hana made a face. “But I wanted…” she sighed.

“I’m sure we can find something else,” McCree told her consolingly and she squinted at him, unamused. “Hey, I  _ warned _ you that I had a different definition of ‘apple picking’ when y’all insisted on coming along.”

Angela crossed her arms over her chest. “It had better be worth our time.”

“It ain’t that prissy shit in there,” McCree grumbled. “But it’s a good time, that I can promise.”

He was given dubious looks, a few of their group looking pointedly at the CLOSED FOR THE SEASON sign with raised brows.

McCree snorted. “I know a guy, okay?” he waved and led the way back to the cars. “Just hop on in and follow me.”

“Give us the address!” Hana complained. “I wanna look it up!”

“Nope.”

“Do you  _ mean _ to make this as sketchy as it sounds?” Angela wondered. She looked at Hanzo. “Well?”

Hanzo smirked and shook his head, following after McCree.

“Fine!” Emily cried dramatically. “Keep your secrets!” she turned to Lena. “Lens? Get in the car.” Hearing McCree’s (stolen) hover cycle start up and seeing Hanzo slip on his helmet to ride with him, they all hurried to their respective vehicles to follow along.

* * *

After nearly losing McCree twice and a terrifying (but incredibly annoying) moment when Hanzo and McCree split up and took alternate routes, they arrived at a very nondescript brick building. The words THE FARM were painted in large, uneven letters along the sides.

“What the fuck is this?” Hana demanded.

McCree ran his hand through his hair, getting rid of helmet hair, and pressed it down again with his customary Stetson. He looped an arm around Hanzo’s waist and reeled him close, dipping him dramatically and kissing him soundly.

Groaning, the group looked away. The parking lot was in a narrow alley where an old building used to be, some of the load-bearing walls and pillars still present though any additional floors had long since been removed.

“Hey Burt.” They turned back to Hanzo and McCree, finding them speaking to the person next to the open doors. McCree winked at the man. “Here for some apple picking. Brought a few friends.” 

The man gave them a cursory glance. “Come on,” he said gruffly. 

* * *

“No more, please,” Hana begged around the fourth round. 

The bar seemed to have a hundred different kinds of apple products: apple rose tarts, apple pies, apple fritters, apple turnovers, apple butter, and apple bread pudding all passed through their table. Baked apples, poached apples, and apples wrapped in dough and baked or fried. 

Then there was spiced apple cider and spiced apple wine and spiked spiced apple juice. Apple vodka and apple rum and a dozen apple cocktails including a spiked apple pie milkshake. 

They had stuffed themselves until their bellies were distended and they were leaning against each other in the booths. 

“You lied,” Hana said stubbornly. 

Hanzo sipped his apple cider. Somehow he was still going strong, enjoying a savory treat this time: a pulled pork slider cooked in apples and served with a fresh apple slaw. Nobody could fathom how he was still eating. 

“We went apple picking,” McCree said, completely unrepentant. “That’s the name of the special. You asked where and I told you ‘at The Farm’.” 

Angela sipped her apple wine. “Do they have other fruit?” 

“Raspberry and peach. All seasonal produce,” Hanzo answered. 

“I feel like this would be a good place to go to with the team,” Hana mused. “It would be a lot of fun!” 

Only Angela noticed the looks that Hanzo and McCree traded. “Perhaps for a date,” Angela suggested, watching their expressions. “But probably not a good idea for the team.” 

The relief on Hanzo’s face made Angela feel guilty. “I’m not sure that this small little place could hold up to all the appetites on the team,” McCree said ruefully. “But it would be good business for them.” 

“Maybe in small steps,” Hana agreed. “I want another apple fritter.” 

Hanzo shot Angela a thankful glance and poured her another glass of wine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone that's been leaving comments and kudos. I love seeing your thoughts and lovely words! 
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, where I'm now much more active, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	14. Ribbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** [Werekem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WereKem/pseuds/WereKem)
> 
> **Prompt:** You wanted holiday prompts: Jesse comes home Christmas Eve to Hanzo waiting for him, laid out naked in front of their fireplace-- except the bow around his dick. :3c
> 
> **Warning(s):** A romantic surprise is attempted. It backfires. 
> 
> **Chapter rating:** M

“Perfect,” McCree said, sitting back on his heels. “I think we got everything.”

Hana’s startled shriek had him automatically twisting on his knees, reaching for a gun he wasn’t wearing. He winced when his knee popped—he really was getting too old for this. But aside from the initial surprise that caused Hana to squeak, she didn’t seem too scared. Her hands were pressed to her mouth and her eyes were wide but she pulled her hands away and gave a too-shrill laugh as if to convince herself that everything was okay.

“Sorry,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest as if to still her racing heart. “Fucker just scared me.”

McCree followed her pointed finger and found an old Elf doll sitting on the shelf. Its eyebrows and nose were grey with dust and more clung to the rough red felt of its costume. “Oh, shit,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I remember that bastard.” 

“What is it?” Hana demanded. “It’s so creepy.” 

Grunting, McCree got to his feet and reached for the little doll, roughly brushing the dust off. It was limp and creepy, just as terrible as he remembered. He grunted. “It’s a super old tradition, early in the century. Y’know Santa, right? Well, they used to say that these elves would be his scouts and tell him when kids had been naughty and nice.” he wiggled the doll, made it bounce along in the air so that its limbs flopped limply. “Parents would move them around so that every morning when the kiddos woke up, he’d be in a different place. As if he moved!” he wiggled the doll in her face and she squealed then sneezed three times in quick succession. 

“Eew, gross!” she complained. “I’m contaminated by the germs!” 

McCree laughed. “Come on,” he said, lobbing the doll toward the corner he had found it in. It fell through a dusty, rotten box in a puff of dust. “I think we got everything.” 

Hana was more than happy to leave and gathered her stash, following him out. In the doorway she paused and looked back, finding everything still covered in dust. The doll watched her from she shelf, its hands folded primly in its lap. 

With another squeak she walked quickly out of the old storage room. 

McCree swore in the hallway. “Shit. I forgot something. Gotta run to the kitchen first. You remember the code?”

“4-2-6-9-6,” Hana recited, rolling her eyes. “You fucking sap. It spells ‘Hanzo’.” 

Unrepentant, McCree shot a finger-gun at Hana and walked down the hall, juggling the box in his hands. Hana shook her head as she watched him go. Old men in love were so cute...and so gross. 

She wrinkled her nose, adjusted her grip on the dusty box, and shuffled down the hall to McCree’s room. There was more shuffling and adjustment as she propped the box against the wall, freeing an arm to tap in the code. 

McCree’s room was actually one of the officer’s quarters from the old Overwatch. It was more of a suite, with a comfortably-sized living area, a small kitchen, and doors leading to a small study and a bedroom. 

The first thing she noticed was a large assortment of ingredients spread out on the nearby kitchen island. From what she could see, it would be an epic meal to remember and she wondered if McCree could possibly be convinced to save her just a little bit for her hard work and suffering. 

That Elf had been really creepy. She deserved payment if only for that!

She put the box down on a free portion of the dining room table and noticed the rose petals. Curious, she followed it. 

McCree, despite being incredibly dangerous on the field, was such a sap, such a soft romantic. It was hilarious. 

The rose petals led into the living area. She looked up and froze. 

They led the way to a beautiful facade of a chimney and fireplace, complete with stockings hung along the mantle and a thick fur rug in front of the fake fire. Hanzo was propped up on a wedge pillow, his legs splayed as he reclined. 

He was naked. 

Hanzo was  _ very naked _ ...except for a ribbon wrapped around his very erect penis. 

She must have made a sound because Hanzo’s head, which had been tilted back to show off the long column of his throat (and she could appreciate his handsomeness despite him being, like, old enough to be her dad) and turned to stare at her with wide, guilty eyes. 

Unable to help herself, Hana screamed. 

* * *

“I’m sorry, baby,” McCree said, not sounding sorry at all. 

Hanzo sat with both hands covering his face. “I’m mortified.”

“Oh, chill,” Hana said. “Soldier, remember? I saw my fair share of dicks.” Both men looked at her in askance and she shrugged. “Things happen,” she said enigmatically, in a way that was absolutely not reassuring at all. "And eew, I'm not talking about sex." 

Nor was it something that they wanted to know. 

They didn’t ask and she said nothing more. 

“I’m very sorry,” Hanzo told her. 

Hana rolled her eyes, already very much over it. The only reason she was still there were the dusty decorations that she and McCree had salvaged to surprise Hanzo and the promise of a good meal for her suffering. “Things happen,” she said. She reached into the box and shrieked again. “Who put this in here?” she demanded. “Cowboy?” 

They all peered inside and found the doll that she and McCree had seen earlier, sitting innocently in a corner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone that's been leaving comments and kudos.
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) or, since it appears that the end is nigh, on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	15. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Requested by:** [Lyall_Lupa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyall_Lupa/pseuds/Lyall_Lupa/works)
> 
> **Prompt:** Jesse gives Hanzo a very special Christmas "present" (NSFW)
> 
> **Warning(s):** Semi-public sex, remote vibrators, not using enough lube, sexual frustration, old men in love. 
> 
> **Chapter rating:** E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I accidentally switched who gives the gift but don't worry....there'll be more ;) 
> 
> Maybe not in my December prompts though.... ;)

There was a twinkle in Hanzo’s eye when he delivered the presents to McCree. One that told him to tread lightly because if he reacted poorly then he would be kicked out of Hanzo’s bed for  _ months _ . 

But McCree was always a betting man and he smirked up at his darling. 

“Gross!” Hana exclaimed without looking up from her own pile of gifts. She had arranged them around her like a wall and was currently assembling the second layer out of gift packages that were overflowing with tissue paper. “Old men in love.” 

Just to mock her further, McCree crooked his finger at Hanzo who indulged him in a lingering kiss. It wasn’t particularly filthy but Hanzo made a few low noises and parted with a flush on his face. 

McCree’s eyes dropped to Hanzo’s groin and then returned to Hanzo’s face questioningly. His darling smirked and walked to the haphazard pile that Genji had been constructing for Hanzo. 

No one really knew how gift opening had become a huge tradition. They were small things usually: little knick-knacks picked up over a hundred missions throughout the year. Each had a story and as someone opened their gift they would get to hear it. Some were running gags: “It was a rabbit” or “it was a frog” or “it was/looked like a snowflake” for Hana, Lucio, and Mei respectively. 

Mercy received gag gifts about nicotine or alcoholism or caffeine addiction. Roadhog received the strangest romance novels that anyone could find; Junkrat received shiny rocks or crystals or occasionally chunks of asphalt. 

(In Bastion’s defense, the asphalt had chunks of broken glass in it so that it glittered like jewels. As much as Junkrat wanted to hate it because it came from an omnic, Bastion had been so sincere in the gift and it  _ had _ been quite lovely. No one but Roadhog knew that the entire enormous chunk held the place of honor on the storage trunk in their room.)

A year’s worth of little gifts added up into an enormous pile of memories. Half of it was for Christmas; the other half was the celebrate the passing of the old year and the start of the new. 

Sprinkled in, of course, were other gifts. Hana always gave them the newest D.Va merch according to their tastes. Lucio made sure to give everyone at least one larger gift. Ana jokingly gave everyone socks, each more outlandish than the last. Most people gave Bastion promises of seeds or plantings come spring which pleased the omnic immensely; Ganymede received gifts of dried fruit and birdseed. 

So the gift that Hanzo set down— _ gifts _ , since they were the kind that were individually wrapped and then tied together in an enormous velvet bow—wasn’t unusual in its size or presence. No one batted an eye at it. 

McCree surreptitiously slid it backwards. If he opened it right away or early on in the night, then everyone would see and ask and needle him to show it off. Judging by the too-pleased smirk, it was not the sort of gift that McCree should be showing around. 

“Hanzo, did you give Jesse his gift?” McCree flinched as Ana turned to peer at him. “It had such lovely wrapping on it.” 

“I wanna see!” Hana cried. 

Mei looked over. “Will you show me how to do that?” 

“Of course,” Hanzo said as McCree reluctantly held the gift up. “Well, Cowboy?” 

So he was playing  _ that _ game, huh? McCree smirked and winked. “I was gonna save the prettiest for last,” everyone groaned and pretended to be disgusted. “But since you’re all dyin’ to know…”

There was a flash of panic followed by a heated look from Hanzo.  _ That _ kind of gift, hm? Very carefully McCree peeled back the pieces of tape, released the ribbon, and separated the boxes. The smallest box was full of tissue paper which McCree very carefully brushed aside, ready to cover everything up if it turned out to be….inappropriate. 

But no. There was a flash of red and McCree peered closer, only to yelp and fling the box away. 

Everyone laughed, revealing themselves in on the ruse. Satya pulled out the doll pinching it, McCree couldn’t help but notice, delicately between two fingers. As if, despite her claims otherwise, she was afraid of it too. “It is just a doll.” 

“Damn thing’s evil,” McCree growled. “Throw it out the fucking window.”

Ana clicked her tongue. “Language” 

Regardless, Satya uncurled herself from her seated position and obediently threw the thing out the window. The flash of red seemed to glitter for a moment against the dark sea before falling—literally—out of sight. 

“Mean trick, babe,” McCree told Hanzo, pouting. Hanzo winked and blew him a kiss.

McCree made a kissy face back at Hanzo and started opening the next gift. To his surprise it seemed rather innocuous: a red and gold sweater with the collar and hems displaying the patterns of his serape. In big letters were the letters BAMF. 

Startled, McCree barked a laugh and looked at Hanzo. “Where did you find this?” 

“Ana and I made it,” he said as if embarrassed. “Do you like it? Try it on.” 

There was something in it. McCree could feel something small and rectangular press against him as he slid it over his head. Just in case he didn’t react to it, smoothing his hands over the sweater as everyone made noises of appreciation or mock disgust. 

Hana asked if Hanzo and Ana could make one with her rabbit logo and while everyone was distracted, McCree found the little rectangular thing and pulled it into his hand. 

It was a remote. 

Looking up, he found Hanzo looking at him with dark eyes while Ana fielded questions about making the sweater. Hanzo smirked and winked. 

Then he stiffened when McCree pressed the first button and thumbed the dial. 

Hanzo’s careful way of walking suddenly made sense now, as did the flush that now spread across his face. 

“Thank you,” McCree said, standing and walking over to his honey to give him a long kiss. It was perhaps a little filthier than strictly necessary and he felt Hanzo grip his jeans tightly, heard the little whimper he gave as McCree thumbed the dial down to the lowest level. “I love it.” 

“Good,” Hanzo said breathlessly, looking thoroughly debauched. “I’m glad. I have another gift for you in our room.” 

It gets better? McCree hummed. “I look forward to it,” he promised. 

They probably wouldn’t get to opening those gifts until tomorrow. From the way Hanzo’s pupils were swallowing his light brown eyes, Hanzo was thinking the same thing. 

McCree settled back down in his fort of presents with a grunt, nudging the dial on the remote higher. “Who’s next?” 

The novelty of McCree’s gift wore off to everyone and they began opening their presents. Mei got Hana a small porcelain rabbit figurine, a part of a larger piece from the Chinese zodiac. It’s little tail had been shot off and Mei had kept it because if she hadn’t turned excitedly with the figurine, the shot would have hit her instead. 

Ana got a large set of knitting needles from Soldier: 76. No one was surprised, but these had the same kind of floral pattern that her favorite teacup. 

Reinhardt got chocolate from Angela and a large beer kit from Torbjörn.

Lucio gave Satya a set of figure skates and Hana gave her a voucher for ice skating lessons at one of the local ice rinks. 

Throughout it all, McCree toyed with the remote, driven crazy to know that Hanzo wore a vibrating plug and that he was just as tortured—or probably even more so—than McCree himself was. 

The night dragged on and McCree was impressed with Hanzo’s fortitude. As the night wound down and the piles of presents diminished to be eclipsed by the pile of trash, McCree found himself holding Hanzo to his chest. 

“Babe,” McCree breathed against Hanzo’s ear. 

He could feel Hanzo shudder as he thumbed at the remote again. Hanzo tipped his head back and gasped as McCree leaned in, bolstered by the warmth of the spiced cider (and whiskey) to press a kiss to Hanzo’s throat. 

“Gross!” someone said but they ignored them. It’s not like they were doing anything.

(Yet.) 

“Not sure how much longer I can last,” McCree said huskily. “So tempting now to just bend you over and have my way with you. Treat you right.” Neither of them really had a public sex kink but perhaps they would have to reevaluate that. 

McCree thumbed the remote and lowered the intensity so that Hanzo could catch his breath. Hanzo made a low noise of disappointment when McCree thumbed the vibrator off. 

“Easy,” McCree breathed. “We have a few more rounds and then…” 

“Not sure how long I will last,” Hanzo hissed. His face was bright red but he was covering it up with a steady stream of drinks. Only he and McCree knew that they didn’t have alcohol. 

McCree pressed a last kiss to Hanzo’s throat. “Good,” he growled. “I want to feel you come on my cock.” He thumbed the vibrator on and Hanzo nearly made a sound that would draw attention their way if Bastion hadn’t released an ear-splitting squeal of glee. 

It seemed that Satya and Lucio had teamed up to make an ornament for the omnic that was an almost exact replica of Ganymede. To make it better, Satya created a little hardlight bird as well and had it flutter around the omnic. 

Hanzo panted, his chest heaving, and McCree turned off the vibrator. “We’re leaving,” Hanzo hissed. “ _ Now _ .” 

By then everyone was drunk enough not to notice or care that McCree and Hanzo packaged up their remaining presents and were leaving. Hanzo leaned heavily against McCree, making low noises as each movement jostled the plug in him. 

McCree had no idea how they made it back to their room but by the time they did McCree’s legs were shaking with how eager he was. He yanked Hanzo into a biting kiss as the door locked behind them. “Tease,” he growled. 

“Did you like your gift?” Hanzo asked breathlessly. 

Growling again, McCree fumbled with his belt, satisfied that Hanzo seemed similarly affected. He rucked up his new sweater to his armpits and lowered his pants just enough to free his cock. Catching sight of Hanzo, he swore. 

Hanzo was now standing beside the bed, his legs splayed as far as the jeans bunched around his thighs would allow. It gave McCree a good view of the lacy thong he wore—bright red like McCree’s serape—and the vibrating plug in his ass. There was something else, too: a mean little ring keeping Hanzo from coming. 

“Fuck,” McCree growled. “Almost don’t wanna…” 

He fumbled with the buckle on the ring around Hanzo’s cock and balls, trying to be gentle as he opened it and slid it off Hanzo’s cock. “Please, Jesse,” Hanzo breathed. 

“Fuck,” McCree growled again. He tugged out the plug with shaking hands, swearing when his fingers slipped in lube. “Babe…”

“Need you now,” Hanzo hissed. 

McCree’s knees shook. “Lube…”

“Fuck me,” Hanzo snarled. 

Licking his dry lips, McCree stepped close and rubbed his leaking cock against Hanzo’s stretched hole. “I won’t last long,” he warned. 

Hanzo twisted to glare at him, his eyes glassy with want. “I won’t either. Fuck me now or I’ll find a toy to do it for me.” 

It wasn’t the worst threat but McCree really wanted to feel Hanzo come apart around his cock so he obeyed, pushing down and into Hanzo’s pliant hole with a low groan. “Darlin’...”

His hips bucked and Hanzo yowled in rapture and perhaps a little from the sting of McCree’s zipper. Unable to help himself, McCree pressed his hand down on Hanzo’s shoulders and bucked harder, squeezing his eyes shut at the squelch of lube and Hanzo’s enthusiastic praise. 

“Fuck,” he hissed and fumbled beneath Hanzo’s belly, searching for his leaking cock. He found it and squeezed, perhaps a little too hard but unable to focus on being gentler. 

Hanzo went breathless, every muscle clenching down on McCree’s cock as he came. McCree swore, his vision going white as he came  _ hard _ . 

When he came to, he was braced almost entirely on Hanzo and he grunted, pulling away to relieve Hanzo of that weight. He swore when his softening cock popped out of Hanzo’s stretched hole, followed by a thick glob of white. 

McCree groaned. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

Face down on the bed, Hanzo’s laugh was muffled by the sheets. He rolled, collapsing on his side on the bed and McCree obligingly helped him pull his pants off the rest of the way. “You  _ told _ me that you were dreaming of a white Christmas,” he teased, his eyes heavy with post-coital bliss and the kind of lazy affection that made McCree’s heart skip a beat. . 

Laughing, McCree pulled off his new sweater (and was glad to find that it somehow wasn’t stained) and leaned in to kiss Hanzo. “Do you want your gift now or later?” 

Hanzo smiled lazily. “Nap,” he said. “And then round two, and then maybe more presents.” 

Chuckling, McCree helped Hanzo out of his clothes, pulled off his jeans, removed the stained comforter, and joined Hanzo in bed. “Nap, present,  _ then _ round two,” he suggested, pressing a kiss to Hanzo’s neck. 

Despite the clear exhaustion weighing on his eyelids, Hanzo twisted to look at McCree. “ _ That _ kind of present?” 

Smirking, McCree winked and settled down for a nap. Hanzo hummed and closed his eyes as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone that's been leaving comments and kudos. This was a lot of fun to do and I'm sorry that my posting schedule had gone to shit near the end. Life and the fact that I have accidentally over-booked myself this December caught up and bit me in the ass. And not in the fun way either. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun doing this. 
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). You can also find me on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) but I'm not as active there anymore. 
> 
> ~DC

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. Already off to a late start this December. 
> 
> It seems that for the first time in a really long time, this weekend was super busy. I had a company holiday party, a friend visiting, a photo shoot...most nights I didn't get back until late.
> 
> That being said....I apologize for the hot mess you'll be getting. I....I had some fun with them ;)
> 
> Feel free to stop by my tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) to see what shenanigans I'm getting myself up to!
> 
> ~DC


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